Harry Gets Charged
by Rae Carson
Summary: COMPLETE! Pt.II,6th yr. After barely escaping a car crash with his life, Harry must face unjust charges of attempted murder of the Dursleys. His unlikely defender: Severus Snape? Harry's PoV. NO SLASH.
1. Lazarus Potter

ATTENTION, ATTENCION, ACHTUNG

To anyone reading this fic, it is a sequel/second part to Harry Gets Even, which I completed approximately 3 weeks ago. This fic will therefore contain major, major spoilers for Harry Gets Even, as well as be very confusing to people who have not yet read said Harry Gets Even.

Therefore, if this particular story arc interests you, I recommend backing out and starting at the very beginning of this highly detailed, researched, and canonical sixth year story, which is, as stated, Harry Gets Even. Thank you.

Dear Readers,

Testing…1.2.3… Hey is this thing on? (tap tap) AUGH! Dang reverb! Hello everybody, and thanks to you readers who followed me over from Harry Gets Even! Hopefully you will like this part as much as the first. It most likely won't be as long, seeing as how Harry Gets Even contained most of the setup and back-story for the remainder of this work.

And to anyone new to Rae Carson, just in case you didn't read the above notice, if you want to know all of what is going on, please go forth and read Harry Gets Even!

Wow, it sure is good to be back writing again…very refreshing. Would you believe I couldn't go more than four days without continuing? I've got the fever, I tell ya. I apologise for taking so long to post this next segment, but my hard drive has been actively trying to crash itself after I did the grievous mistake of installing "windows updates" on her…grrrr… Anyway, as always, Read and Enjoy! Lurve, Rae ;)

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

A delicate ting-ting-tinging sound brought Harry back to consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, and he came to realise that he was blearily looking out a small window. The scene outside was not familiar.

Even though his eyes refused to track properly, his hearing seemed relatively unaffected, though. He carefully turned his head up to the origin of the ting-sound. What looked suspiciously like a Muggle I.V. pole dripped fluids into a tube, which in turn looked suspiciously like it was snaking into his arm. _What am I doing in hospital,_ he thought, _and a Muggle one at that?_

Harry was already getting a weird pain behind his eyes due to lack of glasses, plus his head felt full of white noise and buzzy-fuzzy, like someone had left an off-air television set cranked up far too loudly. It made it difficult to think clearly. He tried swallowing but his mouth felt sluggish and sticky, and his tongue felt like lead. It was like he had been duped into sucking on one of the Weasley twins' Ton Tongue Toffees.

"Oi, Harry?" ventured a very familiar voice hopefully.

He turned slightly and saw George Weasley standing at the foot of his hospital bed. Think of the devil.

It was only when Harry tried speaking that he felt the oxygen regulator sliding across his face to his nose. Attempting to answer his friend, what come out of Harry's mouth sounded more like "hgbwrlglvhm" instead of "Hi there, George."

"I see," said George, with new lilt to his voice, "So I take it that's troll-speak for 'get me a drink of water, you pitiful excuse for a house-elf?'"

Grimacing weakly in response, Harry listened as the redhead kept up a decidedly one-sided conversation. He certainly seemed pleased that Harry was awake.

"Fred and Dad are here too, they just needed to go get something to eat," explained George, thereby answering Harry's next unspoken question. The Weasley took a pitcher from next to the bed, poured water into a glass and stuck a straw in it.

Smiling now, he held it out for Harry who took several sips. Long-dried tissues were finally rehydrated as he slaked his bottomless thirst; at least he could move his tongue and jaw now. His throat was still parched.

"At least one member of the Order is to be with you at all times," continued George, "per Dumbledore's and Moody's instructions. Not that they'd get much argument, considering what happened to you and the Dursleys," he continued mysteriously. "But Fred and I have fledgling status in the Order now," he added, grinning hugely.

Fred and George in the Order? That was great—personally Harry thought it was about time. It was the comment George said about Harry and the Dursleys that Harry was now keen on questioning his friend about. What exactly _had_ landed him in hospital? Hoping his voice would cooperate this time, Harry was interrupted by a shuffling sound in the room's entrance.

"Hey! So Sleeping Ugly's awake at last!" Fred was positively ecstatic as he strode into the room. "Pity I missed it," he continued in mock ruefulness, "what'd you do George, snog him awake whilst the rest of us had our backs turned?"

Harry rolled his eyes and smiled tiredly in spite of himself. What a way to wake up. He suspected the irascible Weasley twins would arrange stand-up comedy for their own funerals, as opposed to a eulogy. If Fred hoped to stump his brother with the latest quip, he failed miserably.

George got a sly look as he glanced in Harry's direction and answered, "'Course I snogged him. Didn't you know? We professed our undying devotion to each other at Yule Ball sixth year. But alas," he sighed dramatically and held a hand to his forehead, "we were too young. So we're getting married straight after he graduates," George deadpanned smugly, folding his arms.

His act was so perfect that Fred nearly gagged from laughing so hard at his brother. _Correction_, Harry thought to himself, _they'd arrange stand-up comedy and disco dancing._

"If you're quite finished arranging my future," Harry smirked and began hoarsely, "perhaps someone would care to explain why I'm here?" Woah, that took loads of effort for him to speak even that much. _Shorter sentences_, Harry amended to himself.

The twins faced him directly, dropping the joking attitude at once. Harry could feel the Weasley twins' power activating.

"We're sorry, Harry," they began together.

"But we didn't realise—" continued Fred.

"—you didn't remember—"

"—what had happened—"

"—ten days ago—"

"Ten DAYS?" interjected Harry, wincing after his near-shout. "I've been out for ten _days_?" he repeated, more quietly this time.

"Yes you have been—" George picked up as if uninterrupted.

"Straight from leaving—"

"—King's Cross Station—"

"—for summer holiday—"

"—you and the Dursleys—"

"—got in a car crash—"

"—near central London," ended Fred.

_Car crash, _Harry mulled dimly, trying to get his foggy mind to work. "What about the Dursleys?" Harry asked immediately. "Are they okay?"

"Your aunt and uncle—"

"—are in serious condition—"

"—elsewhere in hospital—"

"—and haven't stirred—"

"—since being brought here."

Then Fred's eyes narrowed and his voice became slightly menacing, "Your pig of a cousin Dudley was out of here after less than a day. He's back at Privet Drive, lollygagging as you please."

"Well, I suppose that's good," answered Harry, "isn't it?"

The twins exchanged a dark look and George continued, "We overheard him talking to that Marge woman. Dudley was saying how _you_ did something to the car and caused it to crash. Said how he tried to get back at you while the car was rolling," he seethed.

"What?" Harry replied, getting confused again. "Aunt Marge is here?"

"Yes, she came to look after Dudley and the Dursley's house. She believes Dudley that you tried to kill them on purpose. We still don't know if he told her about you supposedly causing the crash with magic, either. At least nobody else is apt to listen to their lies—they are Muggles, after all, and idiot Muggles at that," reassured Fred. George continued, "But Dumbledore is quite certain the crash wasn't an accident, so that's why the Order is watching you here; the professor said it was best for you being hidden in plain sight."

Harry's mind was awhirl. Kill the Dursleys? Sure, his relatives were irritants worth hating, but definitely not worth killing. The Order guarding him again…car crash not being an accident…something flickered and died in Harry's mind about that comment… He continually tried to work through the mistiness in his brain. Then something highly important occurred to him.

"Hedwig was with us, right? Is she—"

George smiled with satisfaction and said, "Oh yes, she's fine. Remember Hedwig's a magical creature, and literally a right tough old bird. Just almost done mending a broken wing at the moment. Hagrid says that wizard from the Knight Bus took her to the right place."

Harry blinked. Hagrid made sense in that context, but… "Wizard from the…Knight Bus?" he repeated back to George blankly.

"You really don't remember much, do you," Fred stated bluntly.

"Small wonder, considering what he's been through," George tossed back.

"Speaking of which, just what have I been through? What's going on, and please tell me why I was asleep so long," said Harry in a rush. It wasn't nearly as energy-sapping to say that much as it had first been, but it still required effort.

George handed Harry his glass of water again and said, "Harry, just lie back and let us do the telling. We'll start at the beginning—"

"—and read your event accounts," Fred continued, "from eyewitnesses, Muggle and magical," he ended, and conjured a sheaf of newsprint seemingly from out of nowhere.

"Hang on," said Harry, "this wreck was in the paper?"

Two pair of eyes sparkled at him, as the twins answered, "No, not 'the' paper." Huge smiles lit up their faces as they said, "_All_ of them."

Fred flashed the headlines of the Quibbler, the Daily Prophet, the London Times, the Guardian, and even…the Independent in front of Harry's face.

Harry's jaw went more and more slack as he stared and repeated dazedly, "_All_ of them?" he stammered, "how did…who did…would it…" He tried once more, "That must've been…" he faded off and thought, _one humdinger of a car crash_. His head was spinning with even more questions now.

Then Fred nodded significantly and answered, "It's not the accident, it's what you did afterward. The crash had left you with major injuries, which included internal bleeding, broken arm and ribs, and a nasty concussion. But despite all this, you managed to get out and summon help for yourself and the Dursleys. And this is a picture of the car after the crash," he added, pointing and handing one of the newspapers to Harry.

Harry was struck even more speechless by the Muggle photograph of the incident scene. Vernon Dursley's car didn't so much resemble a car anymore so much as a flattened and twisted conglomerate of fiberglass and metal. The chassis still astoundingly looked to have kept its shape, although the passenger compartment had decidedly seen better days. Eyes widening, Harry realised the place he traditionally sat in the car—the seat behind front passenger—also happened to be the most caved-in part of the vehicle's roof.

The doors of the car had been opened for the photo, and Harry noticed dark crimson blood smears on the inside; but none more than where he most likely had been sitting.

He said with quiet incredulity, "Don't tell me I got out…out of that? By myself? And got help for us? How…?"

George looked at him intensely and replied, "Yes, you did. Nobody else could believe you did it, either."

Fred agreed by saying, "Wizards and Muggles each saw the crash scene, so in both circles, you have been deemed a 'hero.'"

Raising a sardonic eyebrow, George continued, "No one has been able to piece together quite how you accomplished it, but apparently such acts of valor are not to go unnoticed."

"Therefore _you_, Harry James Potter—" clarified Fred.

"—are London's latest, greatest celebrity," said George, as both twins gave him huge grins again. Man, the pair would never let him live this down. They were clearly enjoying their friend's most recent change in societal status.

Harry was almost mortified, however. According to the brothers, Harry was evidently being given public accolades because of his life-saving actions following the crash, yet he had absolutely no recollection of said events. Not that remembering anything would have improved his horror after learning of his suddenly explosive popularity, mind you…

As a means to distract himself from a growing pain in his ribcage—as well as hopefully improve his vision—he requested his glasses.

"Actually, mate…" Fred said, "they were a casualty in the crash."

Perfect. Now, Harry not only had to deal with the misery of a blanked memory, but he'd have to be half-blind during the foreseeable future as well. Could anything else go wrong? He slumped back into his pillows, feeling rather defeated.

Then George turned and removed something from a recessed shelf in the wall. Walking back over to his bedside, the redhead presented Harry with an object that was all at once violently and instantly familiar to him.

As Harry caught sight of his self-modified holly wand, several things happened in rapid succession.

He sprang forward reactively and reached for the wand, Arthur Weasley came to the doorway and exclaimed happily, 'you're awake!", and a young dark-haired nurse came in and started cursing out all of the Weasleys in a foreign language that distinctly sounded like Spanish.

"Hi Allie," mumbled Fred and George as the young woman strode past them muttering passionately, "yo quiero cordura…"

The most likely reason why the nurse was so abruptly upset was because the consequence of Harry's reflexive action. His too-quick motion had caused him to curl up due to swift sharp pains in his right side. Despite the hurting, Harry felt a sense of elation because he was _finally_ starting to recall some events from the wreck.

"You should have come and fetched me straightaway," the fiery young woman admonished the three red heads.

Arthur and the twins retreated to a corner of the room while the brisk nurse said to Harry calmly, "Too much excitement, eh? I bet it hurts here and here most, then?" She placed one hand along Harry's right ribcage, and another on his bandaged forehead; apparently it was a wound Harry had failed to notice until the moment she'd pointed it out. He nodded up at her painfully.

She walked over to the I.V. monitor, quickly typed something into the computerised keypad and said with a smile, "This should take care of that for you."

The pain gradually subsided as a pleasant warm feeling spread out from Harry's arm to the rest of his body. Whatever it was the nurse had given him, it was good stuff.

At last Harry could tell them, "I remember now! At least some things…Madam Adonna…waking up in the car—you know, I had to kick that car door open…I still can't believe my spit made that wand work…" his rambling gradually subsided as the sedative effects of whatever Allie had used overtook him.

Just after his eyelids drooped closed again, he heard more voices from out in the hallway. He swore he heard Mrs. Weasley saying, "Yes, Adonna woke up so we figured Harry would be awake, too…"

Allie's accented reply was, "Well, he used to be, but he's not now. And no mixing of Muggle and magical remedies. Don't give him anything while I'm not looking."

Then an ensuing clash of Weasley voices all joined in together as Ron said to George accusingly, "Hey, why didn't you come get us?"

"Look, it's not like he was awake for a long time—"

"What'd you want us to do, make him worse?"

"You could've at least told us—"

"Yeah, and made Allie even angrier—"

Then the nurse got everyone's undivided attention as she cried exasperatedly, "Aaagh! Me quieren volver loca!" They all looked to her, slightly shocked by her behaviour.

"Okay, that's it!" She ordered, "No more than two of you in here at a time, taking turns every half hour. And no bugging the patient, or you'll have to deal with me, Nurse Firencita Alejandra Caledonia!"

However disconcerting it might have been to wake up to Mrs. Weasley mothering him, Harry didn't envy any of the Weasleys having to deal with an apparent piranha such as Nurse Allie. In fact, he'd gotten the best of both worlds by fortunately having Fred and George around when he'd woken up. That was his last grateful thought as everything faded to soft white and Harry fell asleep again.

_**O-O-O-O **_

Even though it was doubtful Harry would remember it, during the proceeding twenty-four hours, every member of the Order had attempted to visit him, along with several other high up officials associated with the Ministry of Magic. Nurse Allie had trained her staff well, for even when she wasn't there, her fellow employees would still watch Harry's room like hawks. In effect, he was being given a double guard; one by the Order and one by the Vigilante Caledonia.

All told, Harry woke up no less than seven times within the following day, in various stages of confusion and comprehension. Once, he was garbling something about needing to look for himself, and if anyone happened to see him, to please ask him to wait. Another time he bolted upright in bed shouting, "Harry Potter is not dead!" only to collapse back to the mattress into fitful slumber. In yet another instance, he tried covering his head while whimpering, "No, dear lord, not a London Potter fan club…"

Harry's disorientation was highly disturbing to those who knew him, but Nurse Allie explained to them over and over, with slightly less patience each time, "It's very normal. You need to remember, being asleep for ten days can make someone a little confused, not to mention he whacked his head, he's on some heavy medication, and he's dealing with the after effects of the Gemini Stasis Charm. In fact, it's quite amazing things aren't even more scrambled for him. Remember the doc's already come to say there's good chance he'll remember it all. Just give him time," and then she would dazzle them with her most winning smile, and they'd be forced to agree. Who said that Squibs weren't capable of magic?

Ironically enough, it turned out Harry had good reason to be concerned about Harry Potter fan clubs in London. He had not one, but two dedicated to him—one Muggle and one magical. People around wizard and Muggle Britain had been so taken with the mortally wounded teenager who'd managed to save his relatives, that they continued to send him Get Well cards and gifts daily.

Thankfully for all involved, Professor Dumbledore had anticipated the public's explosive response to the Potter's tenacity. After all, everybody loves the unlikely rescuer. The influx of owls sent to Harry at hospital had instead been redirected to an alternate address in London. There was also a flood of care packages and other such deliveries to his room, so hospital demanded Harry's current guardians take action regarding the mounting gifts. After brief discussion, it was decided whom to offer the tedious job of cataloguing the entire well-wishing into something more manageable and less space-consuming.

The fan clubs had been positively jubilant at the opportunity to help out the object of their enthusiasm, no questions asked. Even though every card was kept, there simply wasn't enough room for all of the stuff he was sent, so most of it was donated to charity in Harry's name. Not one person around Harry disagreed telling the boy would indeed be the worst idea. In any case, who wouldn't freak out over being sent two thousand assorted plush animals? No, it was best to let Harry get used to the idea of his new level of fame. Yeah, right. And maybe Grawp would sprout wings and fly.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

**EXPLANATION STATION:**

Yo quiero cordura – I want sanity

Aaaagh! me quieren volver loca! – ACK! You wanna drive me crazy!

Thanks for Flo, my Uruguayan e-niece and friend who helped me out with the Spanish this chapter.


	2. Orange Crush

Dear Readers,

When I started to write Harry Gets Even, I began the culmination of an idea of a 'tribute' type chapter to my fellow HP fans/friends. This was an idea I began batting around as far back as last September '04, when HGE was supposed to be a mere quarter to a third the length it turned out being. However, the storyline changed as my life changed and I must admit it's REALLY REALLY satisfying to see this chapter finally come to fruition.

Since the contents of this chapter are largely surprise, I couldn't let my beta readers see it…so if there's anything overtly weird or inexplicable, I apologise. Just leave me your questions (regarding this chappy) and I shall endeavour to answer them as long as they don't pertain to other crucial elements of this story. Thanks. Lurve and Enjoy, Rae ;D

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

As if the rampant altruism amongst the citizenry wasn't fame enough, Harry Potter continued to gain notoriety in other genre as well—most specifically in the field of modern Muggle medicine.

Some quite amazing things in the way of healing had gone on for Harry's benefit as he had been sleeping. Despite the fact he had still been mostly unconscious since day one of his hospital stay, Harry had managed to pick up on quite a lot since day eleven. It was just the majority of the time, he was simply too tired to bother with conversation, plus he had learned from a very, very early age just how much one could learn when they thought you were incapable of hearing them.

Shortly after admittance to hospital, Harry was catalogued as having a concussion, a jagged gash in his forehead from receiving concussion when his glasses broke, one large wound from a concentration of broken glass in his left arm (shards which Madam Adonna had removed while on the Knight Bus), bruised liver, ruptured appendix, and a perforated right lung. The hole in his lung was formed when his shoulder was turned earlier by Madam Adonna. It turned out she had not known the true severity of internal injuries before she reset a separated shoulder of his. That, along with his once-broken collarbone, were things hospital only knew about upon speaking with Muggle police men who had been allowed to ride the Knight Bus.

Thanks to Madam Adonna's inducing the Gemini Stasis Charm, the Muggles had already declared Harry a "medical miracle" during his first day at hospital. It was quite touch and go, but the staff had ordered a series of chest X-rays upon Harry's arrival at hospital; the successive films revealed that his three broken ribs and internal organs continued to heal themselves at an impossible rate. As a result, other dangerously fluctuating vital signs continued to right themselves and even exploratory surgery was eventually deemed unnecessary. His seemingly unfeasible recuperative abilities did not stop there, however.

Apparently, sometime during the third day of his stay, some completely inexplicable changes had happened to Harry's status. One moment he had been in his patient shift in bed, machines and vital sign monitors whirring away. The very next moment—hardly more than the blink of an eye—he was wearing his street clothes and shoes, his hair was suddenly a quarter the length it used to be, and in many ways his physical condition was far deteriorated compared to when he'd started.

The Muggle machines did not like being abruptly bereft of their subject and appropriately started their squealing protests. Nurse Allie had luckily been on shift, and while upon entering the room her first comments were something along the lines of, "what have you done to him?" she quickly got to her tasks. The resident on floor was hot on Allie's heels and immediate blood tests were ordered, even as the medical staff began to reattach appropriately sterilised equipment to the patient.

Harry continued to confound Muggle medicine. For even though his skin had a distinctly grey-bluish pallor, he no longer needed a respirator to breathe. In fact, only minimalist equipment was required from that point on—heart monitor, I.V., oxygen regulator, and a couple others.

After lab tests were performed, it came to be known Harry's electrolyte levels were almost nonexistent because he had been inexplicably dehydrated past the point of all reason. Had they cared to weigh him, the Muggles would have seen a good eight-kg difference off Harry's already lean frame from the previous three days. In short, it was "as if they were now dealing with two different people" according to medical staff. Regardless of the fact Harry had a dual I.V. drip going after this weird incident, he still continued to lose fluids rapidly.

The G.S. Charm was capable of much, but even its miraculous qualities were limited to the stabilisation and repair of major systems and organs. The window glass wounds on Harry's arm had already been quite nasty to begin with. But after third day, the injuries had not only expanded in size, but also severity. Now up to sixty-five percent of the skin surface area of Harry's forearms was just open wound; even though it wasn't technically "bleeding," he continued to soak through dressings at an alarming rate.

Along with other things, this created a potential harbour for mass infection, so hospital again started making plans for surgery. The difference this time would be that it was for skin grafts. Ironically enough, dermal repair just happened to be one of Madam Adonna's areas of expertise, but she was indisposed and being cared for at Grimmauld Place, so another trustworthy healer was slipped into Harry's room.

Regrowing bones is indeed a nasty business, but regrowing skin is an even longer process and immeasurably more painful. The biggest reasons are not only because of the amount of area it covers, but also because of constant exposure to external stimuli. Nurse Allie explained to Hermione and the Weasleys how it was a damned good thing magical medicine was available, because she'd personally had to clean out injuries as Harry had, and it was a procedure that left most Muggle patients screaming in pain. Due that, everybody was also glad Harry was still asleep.

It is generally a very bad idea to mix Muggle medicine with magic, but not necessarily because of adverse pharmaceutical reactions. It was largely due to Muggles going overboard in trying to figure out just what had happened and doing something stupid in response.

Over the course of three days, Nurse Allie gave Harry copious amounts of Derma-Gro according to the healer's instruction. The wounds in Harry's arms gradually filled themselves in and he no longer suffered from grievous loss of fluids. Gratefully, Allie's indignant attitude managed to scare away all but the most persist of Muggle doctors and surgeons who kept trying to find convenient excuse to come stare at the oddity of nature who could seemingly spontaneously regenerate bones, major organs, and tissues when he needed to.

They still needed to make sure Harry's new skin tissue would function properly, so Allie performed holistic touch on Harry's arms every three hours. This type of healing was something that some Squibs and even Muggles could do, and it kept a constant balance in an otherwise erratic physical situation. Allie was the only one of her staff who could do this, but that was okay because it turned out Mrs. Weasley and Ginny knew how to do it, too.

It was this particular activity on fourteenth day of Harry's hospital stay that Ginny was currently engaged in with him. Twelfth day, Harry had finally stayed awake long enough to eat something. This alone was enough to improve his already hopeful prognosis by leaps and bounds, and he continued his rapid recovery even despite the day three setbacks.

He only spent half the time sleeping now, and when awake he tried much of the time sitting up in a chair or trying to walk around. When awake he was mostly stir-crazy, because he wanted _out._

Though Harry was sick to death of the whole hospital thing, he still could not leave. He still tired inordinately, he was still dealing with constant prescription-worthy pain, and he still couldn't drink or eat enough to be weaned off intravenous fluids. It was quickly noted the things that calmed and helped him flourish most was if he was in company of his friends.

And Ginny Weasley had proved invaluable to this task. This was true even though she became slightly snippy at getting distracted during her assignment of helping Harry. As a result, it was unspoken agreement Ron and Hermione always left the room whenever Ginny was doing her thing.

"How do you…do that?" Harry inquired of the red-haired girl as she performed her holistic touch over his arms. Even though it looked to be just a lot of mystic hocus pocus, Harry would still swear by it. He could feel her draw the hurt away from his hypersensitive nerve endings.

Ginny, eyes closed, answered, "It's a matter of restoring ionic balance to your chakras. Nurse Allie used to do this over your entire body before the Muggles got suspicious." Hovering a hand just above Harry's skin, the redhead girl continued to work her way from his elbow down to his fingertips. "And you need to be completely calm, otherwise you'll disturb the balance you're trying to reestablish."

"What are…'chakras?"" Harry repeated slowly, half-hypnotised by Ginny's serene motions.

After a few moments, Ginny answered softly, "Chakras are psy-points of life force in the spirit and body. Everybody has seven chakras, which emanate from the spinal area; root, sacral or navel, solar plexus, heart, throat, forehead, and crown centres. When these are out of whack, it can really throw you. I learnt this stuff from mum when I was little. When pain occurs in the body, it means an unusual concentration of heavy ions have built up. The important thing is to draw that concentration away before it can get worse."

"Well, I don't know…anything much about that stuff…" Harry continued to be drawn in despite his confusion by Ginny's explanation, "but I'd say you're absolutely brilliant at it," he observed as the last of his tension ebbed away and he slouched back into the pillows on his bed. Ginny blushed slightly and said, "Thanks," with a small smile. It sure was nice to see her smile. Harry immediately found himself wondering where on earth that random thought had come from.

Suddenly, Harry was reminded of his unending happiness that Nurse Allie had allowed him the pleasure of wearing actual clothes during the day. It brought a feeling of dignified normalcy that hospital pyjamas just couldn't conjure. Wearing street clothes also helped him forget he had to be tethered to things everywhere he went.

Ginny gently helped Harry roll his protective fingerless gauntlet back over his new skin. The special over-the-elbow-length gloves were a breathable silicon-poly blend of fabric and used for elemental protection as well as scar reduction on his arms. These were also the same gloves the Muggle hospital used for patients who had surgical skin grafts.

By the time Ginny had finished with Harry's other arm, he felt about ready to take another nap but he fought it. He hadn't even realised it, but Harry had subconsciously begun to tap out a rhythm with his other hand.

"Why do you always do that?" Ginny inquired. "You always…well, I think you wind up tapping out a heartbeat when we do this."

"Oh, erm, I dunno." Harry self-consciously stilled his hand; these weren't the only times he'd found himself inadvertently measuring out the rhythm with the heart monitor. The activity was both simultaneously maddening and reassuring for him.

The adults amongst Harry's circle of friends had been markedly absent from his room, instead choosing to stay out in the hallway whenever Harry had his younger visitors. Due to previous bickering that erupted over which station to watch, Nurse Allie had effectively banned guest television use in Harry's hospital room. That was fine as far as he was concerned; he couldn't see the stupid picture anyway because of his missing glasses and that, combined with the noise was enough to give him a migraine.

Harry's friends were as informative as they could possibly be, much opposed to last summer. Together, they had helped him recount as much events as he had yet been able to remember of the car crash. It turned out he had been able to recall nearly everything except for the details of leaving the King's Cross car park or what specifically induced the car to crash. It was only a ten-minute chunk of time, and undoubtedly the extensive media coverage of said events was in large part responsible for triggering Harry's patchy memory. At least the annoying publicity had served some useful purpose.

Just as Ginny finished rolling Harry's gauntlet back up onto his other arm, Hermione and Ron came back into the room. There had been precious little to do while Harry was sleeping, so his friends had invented the activity of plastering the back wall of his room with the cards sent from the well-wishers and subsequent fans. As a means to pass the time, they read aloud some of the more entertaining and meaningful cards aloud to one another.

"Oh now, this one's so sweet!" exclaimed Hermione. "Evidently you have a secret admirer at Hogwarts, Harry." This caused a weird, if distasteful expression to run across Ginny's features.

"Really?" Harry asked. It was sure news to him that at least one girl amongst his schoolmates actually found him in any way admirable.

"Dear Harry Potter," began Hermione, "I have watched you since your first day at Hogwarts, and I must say you are positively cute! My stupid friends always said, 'Don't pay any attention to him, he's weird, he's dangerous and attention-seeking, nobody wants to snog a lad who's minging.' I told them one day you'd all prove them wrong, and just look what happened! You're not only brave among wizards, but the Muggles love you too, as well they should! My friends can now go take a hike, because you're beautiful inside and out! I hope you get well soon, hot Gryffies like you don't deserve to be kept down too long. Much love, Leigh from Edinburgh."

This simple paragraph had caused just about every emotion under the sun to flit across Harry's face. The "cute" comment had him blushing like mad, to be followed by indignation by being referred to as "minging," and then being referred to as not only attractive, but "hot" in the end. The only thing he could think of to say was, "Who on earth is this Leigh person!" _And why haven't I known of her existence until now?_ he added mentally.

Ron was doubled over and laughing so hard he could barely speak. Ginny merely said, "Oh, it's probably a fake name. I know if I dared write all of that stuff to you in a letter, I'd never let you know my true identity! 'Positively cute!'" she exclaimed and began giggling with Hermione.

"Next card, anyone?" Harry prompted, trying not to smile or blush his fool head off.

He broke a corner off the chocolate bar Ron had snagged for him. That was another odd post-car crash quirk Harry had picked up; a inexplicable, never-ending hankering for wizard chocolate. It wasn't that he hadn't liked it before, but now he couldn't seem to get enough. Hermione had such a mother hen type bedside manner, she'd pestered Harry over it until Ron just told her, "It's for his health, Hermione. You can't deny the healing powers of wizard chocolate." Ron-logic to the rescue.

"I'll go," offered Ron and stepped up to one card on the wall. "Dear Mr. Potter, Seeing as how I'm a country girl from Nuneaton, England, you'd probably expect me to refer to you as 'duck' in this letter. I assure you this will not occur because I happen to think ducks are stupid and annoying, and I have a feeling you are neither. I should have written to you awhile ago, back when you first did your interview for the Quibbler. I want to tell you that I always believed what you said in regards to You-Know-Who, but your most recent actions just cement to me your true character. Not everybody would bother trying to save the lives of a group of people who hated them, relatives or no. My hat is off to you. Sincerely Yours, Siri Bartolomei. P.S. Get Well Soon!" Ron finished and grinned hugely at him, "See, not all of your admirers are crazy, frothing-at-the-mouth idiots."

It was indeed reassuring for Harry to find out that people were not simply noticing the fame about him, but also his inner motivation. These letters actually meant something; he'd always assumed most of them would be mindless drivel.

"Hmm, this one's from France," spoke up Ginny, "Hey Harry, I'm dying to know, Are you a Lord of the Rings (LotR) fan?"

Ginny and Ron looked at bit confused as Hermione explained, "Muggle cinema series based on books. Most ridiculous thing I've ever seen," she scoffed, "magic rings, talking trees, epic wars—utter nonsense," she mumbled.

"Moving on," continued Ginny, "because I think LotR is even better than Star Wars! But nobody is better than Merry and Pippin. Anyway, I just saw your picture in the London Times online, and you seemed like a cool person, what with saving your relatives and everything. Drop me a line sometime, we'll do lunch. Cheers, Pip's Girl from Paris."

"Nutter!" declared Ron, scarcely letting his sister finish the letter. Privately Harry agreed, and he even knew each Muggle reference the French girl had used.

"She's not a 'nutter,'" defended Hermione, "but she does seem a little…confused," she allowed. "I guess it's my turn again then," Hermione said, skimming another set of cards on her lap. "It's been long enough that some of these have even started to arrive from further overseas than France. Here's one that I think you'll like," smiled Hermione.

"Hello there, Harry Potter! I can imagine it'll be kind of different getting a letter from someone like me. Two of my three wonderful children have always been Potter fanatics, and I always supported them in it. The biggest reason why is because you are a young man who has never wavered in your story or beliefs, and that is certainly something to admire. Whatever you do, don't trivialize this trait; I know many adults who are seemingly incapable of such things. Minister Fudge was wrong to have publicly ridiculed you, a boy who had to have suffered much because of those most unfortunate events you were forced to experience and witness. Thank you for daring to be the face of reason against so many countless pressures. Applause for you, and feel better soon. Fan-Dad Forever, Michael 'Hardy-Boy' Horntail, Minnesota USA."

Harry was struck speechless. Now it wasn't just kids or random people who wanted to show their appreciation for him, but…parents were, too. It was mind-boggling…yet…very…touching that people would care enough to contact him about it. The majority of them appeared to disagree fully with the Ministry's prior treatment of him as well.

"Okay," Ginny said knowingly, "here's you a mental one right here." Holding up a postcard, the red-haired girl showed them the picture on the front of a nighttime cityscape that once had the caption "Seattle's Space Needle" on it. Instead the words were crossed out and written over in black markered scribble, "World's Biggest Boogie-Extractor."

"Hi, whoever you are," Ginny began reading the back of the postcard, "I had to send this to you because your eyes are green. Green is great, it's the color of boogies, my favorite thing to eat. Did I tell you I'm a boogie eater? Scabs are good, but boogies are better. I have a poem for you. Roses are red, violets are blue. Chunky boogies are best, 'cause they make snot stew!"

The four of them all joined in with various sounds of disgust and derision. While the postcard's content was indeed cringe-worthy, it was also undeniably…laughable. Apparently the American term for "bogeys" was "boogies." Hermione didn't seem to agree with her friends' chuckling, however.

"For Merlin's sake, some people should really be outlawed from using pens," the girl said officiously. "And who's it from?" she asked.

"It just says, 'Wizened Boogie-Eater in Washington State,'" Ginny answered back.

Hermione replied sarcastically, "Well, I highly suggest you disinfect anything else you receive from there before reading it."

"All right, well one more to read and we'd best be leaving," Ron said reluctantly. "Allie was right when she said you won't sleep when we're around…because you don't, you know." The boy smirked down and Harry who looked away. Heck, when Ron was right, he was right. Plus Harry was feeling really tired at the moment anyway.

Ron picked one from Hermione's stack of cards and said, "This one was signed by a lot of people. Dear Harry," continued Ron, "this isn't so much a fan letter as a letter of appreciation. We're all really grateful to you for standing up to not only He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but to Minister Fudge's snow job of you, too. We are teens who think our parents would just sometimes get a big fat clue and stand up to Fudge's idiocy. If _you_ can do it, thousands of adult wizards should certainly be able to! Way to stay your wits and save your relatives, too. Keep the faith, get better soon, and stay cool! Stephaz and the HP Fic Factory, Southern California USA."

Upon finishing, Ron stood up and handed the card to Harry so he could read the entire enthusiastic youthful scrawl on it. Hermione and Ginny slowly joined him and the three bid their farewells on the way out the door. The last thing Harry saw as he fell asleep was the welcoming signatures of his eager supporters.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

**EXPLANATION STATION**

**Minging**: (adj/verb) British slang meaning one of three things depending on context. 1) sinfully ugly; coyote muggly, or 'muggle ugly,' 2) covered in unmentionable gunk, 3) really really stinky, as in crack ho 'stankay'. Ex: You're minging! Take a shower, mate!

**Space Needle**: Six-hundred-and-something ft tall monolith built in Seattle, Washington for the 1960-something World's Fair. No, it really wasn't meant to contact extra terrestrial life, and if you want to know more, I suggest you Google it. Thanks ;)

**Boogies**: American slang, alt. version of "bogey".


	3. Nicknames and Nightmares

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for your reviews! They always mean so much to me. Thanks also for your patience. I have had many, many things get in the way of my finishing, let alone writing this chapter. Please forgive.

As music is one of my greatest loves (I am an eclectic fan of many types, not the least of which is Brit indie and punk/metal) so I decided to write it directly into my work. It should also help explain to you the reason behind one of my particular pieces of illustration on my deviant art account (which link is posted in my author profile here.)

I quite like the easygoing manner this work started out on, and I'm trying to stay with it though some heavy things are to come.

It was also very, very fun to discuss with fellow Potterphiles on what type of Muggle disguises Harry's wizard friends would wear in the public eye.

This again is a decidedly different chapter, but I hope you like the variety. So as always, Enjoy! Lurve, Rae :)

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

Easily the most meaningful piece of encouragement Harry had received thus far was his card from the D.A. Several of the club's members had even come to see Harry at hospital and present him with the stationery that had each of their signatures on it. The parchment was a bit worn, obviously from making its way around Great Britain, but it was this hand-created work he found himself reflecting upon over and over. How was it that people who had risked their lives for him, because of him, in spite of him, could still choose to stay friends with someone who could've easily caused their demise? Despite the rampant guilt he felt over the Department of Mysteries ordeal, he also was able to temper it with the camaraderie he was given by his friends…no, not just friends. Some of them were mates, same as Ron and Hermione.

"Gathering strength from outside ties," observed Dumbledore as he strode into Harry's hospital room, "is a most worthy pursuit, and I am gratified to see you doing as much." The elder man smiled at him kindly as Harry gestured him to sit in a chair next to the wall by the bed.

"Good evening, Professor," answered the young man.

It was certainly different to see Dumbledore out of his traditional wizard attire. Even though Dumbledore had shed his resplendent robes for Muggle disguise, the elder gentleman was every bit as comfortable in blazers and trainers as he was in designer robes. The headmaster sat back in the chair and steepled his ringed-fingers over his Muggle dress trousers.

During Harry's convalescence, it happened that the Order had managed to acquire quite a collection of Muggle apparel so its members could dress accordingly when going to hospital. It had become of absolute necessity to do so, as Harry's wizard friends had to be properly concealed when around him due to media profiling. However, nobody amongst Harry's friends really had any idea where to find the appropriate accoutrements, so Nurse Allie volunteered to go out shopping with a few of her youngest and most enthusiastic staff for Dumbledore and company.

As Allie's friends were female, fashion savvy, and decidedly over-excited by the task of picking out clothing for a group that was comprised mostly of males they knew nothing about, their picks of attire were what one would call…rather trendy. The young women had chosen several brands and styles, but it turned out that most of the Order, from the twins to Lupin to Dumbledore, had separately decided on a sporty if comfortable combination of looks.

"Any reason in particular you've come to see me today, sir?" asked Harry of the elder gentleman.

Although Harry had never thought of Dumbledore as old, it was still quite interesting to see someone as wizardly-distinguishable as he was pull off the look of an eclectic and active Muggle university official. It didn't matter Albus preferred pinstriped suits, Fred and George preferred khakis and polo shirts, Remus preferred fitted shirts, jeans and Docs; across the board, the comparably inexpensive yet wildly popular line of Topman clothing was the disguise of choice.

"Nothing too exciting yet, I'm afraid," answered the headmaster, "this is just mainly to touch base and see for myself how you are doing."

Per usual in cases such as this, one could only keep silent about such a media prince as Harry for so long. Protection of Harry was utmost priority, but someone eventually had to speak to all of the rabid reporters. This duty largely fell upon Remus, Fred, and George to be the young Potter's spokespersons. The three were also the Order members most commonly seen in public near his hospital room. As a result, much of the female attention meant for Harry was redirected onto his older friends instead.

Even though it was completely lost on the gentlemen in the Order as to why they garnered so much doting, especially from Allie's Muggle staff (it turned out several tabloids had approached the Order about doing biographical stories on them, which they'd politely declined,) Allie insisted it was best to go with the flow. Quite frankly the Weasley twins (or "mis doble sietes" as Nurse Allie called them,) did not only love their newly found fondness, but were also capable of handling it as well. This created no end of amusement for Harry and his younger friends, but he and Ron almost died laughing when they overheard Nurse Allie's secret nickname for the organisation with Grimmauld Place for headquarters.

Remus, the twins, and the headmaster were standing together in the hospital corridor when Allie muttered sardonically, "Ah, an unplanned meeting by the Order of the Chavs."

Hermione blushed and nearly choked while saying, "Did you just call…Dumbledore…a…" and then she collapsed into mad giggles with Ginny.

Alastor Moody was simply too conspicuous, Mundungus Fletcher wasn't trustworthy enough, Minerva McGonagall was too busy with Hogwarts, while Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley, and Tonks were tangled up in Ministry dealings due to their employment, whereas Mrs. Weasley was also trying to keep things together behind the scenes.

"I'm doing okay actually," answered Harry, and meant it.

It was very gratifying to have one less tether to deal with, as the heart monitor had finally been removed upon becoming annoying in the extreme. Whenever the nursing staff had to switch out sticking electrodes, they would almost invariably forget to reset the heart monitor to quit going off on false alarms. It so happened Harry had a naturally low heart rate, especially when he was sleeping; whenever the machine detected a rate below 60 beats a minute, the alarm would go off. It was supposed to have been set to 50 for Harry, but one night the infernal alarm had woken him up about twelve times in a row.

In a fit of pure frustration (and half-sleep) Harry had torn the electrodes straight off his chest without realising what he was doing. This was foolish for any number of reasons because it only made the monitor shriek louder, Harry then lost even more sleep, and forcibly ripping off things from one's body is quite painful. It's wasn't like how the movies make it look; electrodes don't bond to the skin because of suction, they stay stuck because they are _glued_ on. The nursing staff found Harry doubled over and clutching his sternum after this incident, because fuzz or not, tearing out your chest hair just hurt like bloody hell. Thankfully though, the resident on shift was male and declared, "If he can handle that without even tearing up or shouting, he doesn't need one of those," and away went the thrice-damned heart monitor.

"I'm very glad to hear of that," replied the elder professor, "I understand it has been quite difficult to spend your summer holiday cooped up here, but truly the speed of your recovery is…unheard of."

Nurse Allie had told Harry that he was now on a tapering schedule of his intravenous pain meds and as such, that was usually a good indicator he was to leave hospital quite soon. She had been rather cautious with this information and practically had to have her staff sit on Harry so he wouldn't overtax himself. But this was indeed good news. He told his friends about it as soon as he could.

Harry asked Dumbledore, "I think I'll get sprung from her soon, but where am I going to go from here, Professor?" He assumed he wouldn't like the headmaster's answer and wasn't surprised in the least at the man's reply.

"Privet Drive of course is your destination." But then the elder man's tired-looking eyes sparkled a bit as he continued, "However, you will hardly be left alone, and it will be a decidedly short stay for you indeed."

_At least I don't have to stay with Aunt Marge and Dudley for too long,_ thought Harry. Going from hospital directly to Privet Drive wasn't exactly a step up, so enthusiasm was rather muted on his part.

"Is there anything else you require here?" The Order members had been most accommodating, as if making up for lack of contact with Harry last summer. It was another good thing, if a bit irksome. He couldn't pin-point why, but Harry found himself wishing for someone to be angry at from time to time, but his usual antagonists had been scarce in appearance.

Dumbledore was both directly and indirectly involved with the Ministry dealings that had ensued after the Department of Mysteries debacle. It turned out much of the wizard world had begun to openly voice their displeasure of Fudge's blatant mishandling of their government over the past while. Originally, it was chiefly over how Cornelius had not only denied Harry's story, but outright insisted that Voldemort had not been reborn and lurking in a hide-out somewhere over the previous year. Shortly after that, other people began pointing out seemingly countless other instances in the Minister's past history where he grossly bungled yet slyly managed to cover up his own idiocy by passing the buck. It was reflecting all the signs of a political upheaval.

"Nothing I can think of at the moment," Harry replied smirkingly, "since I highly doubt Firebolts and Sneak-o-scopes aren't off-limits within Muggle reach."

"A fair assumption on your part," answered Dumbledore amusedly, "but I do suggest you pay attention to what Miss Granger told you about gearing up for summer studying. Once you're out of here, there will be much for us to go over," he said. "I also caution you against ensuing fallout from Cornelius's demand to remain Minister. I'm afraid as far entrenched as he is in the government, he's not going to go quietly or without a fight," the headmaster warned Harry.

Harry had no desire to spend what was left of his summer with his nose in books, but hearing the headmaster refer to upcoming studying was at least in some way a reassurance. The young man still hadn't forgotten his conversation with the elder professor about the prophecy. Harry couldn't explain precisely why, but continuing to learn and study at least gave him the illusion of having a future. This was very meaningful, as Harry was basically convinced he had to kill or be killed by the one person whom he loathed most in the entire world…a certain Lord Voldemort.

"Well, thanks for dropping by, sir," said Harry. "Hopefully the next time we meet up will be when I get out of here."

The older man chuckled and said, "Indeed. Allie tells me you are champing at the bit in effort to leave. But as Fred and George would say, 'take a load off, old chap.'"

So incongruous were the words coming out of Dumbledore's mouth that it caused a huge grin to come to Harry's face. It was quite clearly the professor's tactful way of telling Harry to not push himself too hard yet.

"Thanks," he responded to an impishly smiling Dumbledore. "Catch you later." Then the elder gentleman walked out and Harry was left alone again with his thoughts and his Get Well cards.

Petunia and Vernon still hadn't woken up, and except for once, Harry hadn't been able to bring himself to visit them anymore. It was another thing he couldn't fathom why, even to himself. Hopefully nobody would ask him to explain it either; it was just something that they all seemed to understand, at least passively. First Harry's godfather had been taken from him, and though they hardly meant the same thing, the Dursleys were still a significant part of his life too. That, and they also happened to be his last living relatives.

** .… …. …. **

The nightmares were back. It was something Harry still hadn't found himself capable of telling anyone yet. At first, he had been so pre-occupied with sleeping, catching up on what he missed, and otherwise getting better that he'd barely had time to notice. But now there was no question about it. The past two nights Harry had experienced his singularly most terrifying nightmares ever.

He envisioned himself in a mysterious place where Voldemort was subjecting him to the worst type of torture. A lot of the time it felt like Harry was being hit with a Cruciatus Curse, only much more excruciating. He recalled screaming in pain over and over again until he had literally worn his voice out. For some reason, Harry was also unable to speak words or anything in these horrid dreams. And there was the sound of a heartbeat, always in the background…making him go mad. Mostly Harry just felt so much pain, and was so mind-numbingly freezing cold that he'd once woken up shivering and with tears on his face. Nobody appeared to have noticed him do this, though it was probably only a matter of time before they did. Until then, it would remain Harry's carefully guarded secret.

Unfortunately, being mostly alone after visiting hours had left the young man far too much time to ponder about his nightmares. He had too much time to think about everything from Sirius, to Voldemort, to the prophecy, to how close Harry had come to his own death. Nighttime at hospital had basically become the bane of Harry's existence, and tonight was proving no exception.

He had no real desire to sleep at all, but it seemed like anything would be better than the alternative of staring out the window and watching the not-quite thunderstorm that was brewing outside. It not only matched Harry's inner turmoil perfectly, but also harmonised the song he heard softly playing on the stereo at the Nurses Station just outside his door. The radio was currently tuned to a station that played hard rock.

The song had started out with a slow, steady rhythm that matched the depressive rate of Harry's heart. It was quite the intro cadence; lead guitar paired death knoll type chimes that joined in time to the music. Then the equally meaningful lyrics began.

"I'm a roarin' thunder, a pourin' rain…" an angsty, gravelly male voice sang out. Huge drops of precipitation began splattering the hospital room window as if on command.

"…A comin' on like a hurricane." The wind outside came in extra strong gusts now, driving the drops against the glass even harder.

"My lightnin's flashin' across the sky…" Suddenly the view outside lit up like midday with a series of storming energy bolts. It startled Harry a bit but he was jolted back to harsh reality with the next lyric in the song.

"You're only young, but you're gonna die." After the prophecy, Harry had far too much cause to reflect on the parallel meaning of those words to his own life. It was quite difficult not to think on it…

"Don't take no prisoners, won't spare no lives. Nobody's puttin' up a fight," scraped out the singer's voice. The storm outside pressed on harder and the rain started coming down in sheets. "I got my bell, I'm gonna take you to hell, I'm gonna get you…"

Then came the thrumming chorus of the tune. "Hells bells…yeah, hells bells. You got me ringin' hells bells. My temperature's high, hells bells." As if the song couldn't get any more significant, the next verse commenced.

"I'll give you Black sensations up and down your spine… If you're into evil, you're a friend of mine…" Sometimes the dark feelings in Harry's mind were all he felt he had left anymore. That was a new emotion that had reared its ugly head after Harry lured Sirius to his death, and one he'd scarcely told anyone about. It was still another way of thinking that proved too complicated or thorny to shake off easily.

The singer howled with the guitar, "See my white light flashin' as I split the night… 'Cause if good's on the left, then I'm stickin' to the right."

The evocative song traded back and forth on focus between the cries of the vocalist and the wailing guitar, building to a crescendo that dared to match the raging weather outside. This style of music hadn't been one Harry had ever particularly cared for, let alone listened personally to. Yet something about it just called to the innermost part of him in a way nothing else had come close to doing. Never before had the strains of any song all at once stung and soothed his soul the way this one had. Just as he determined to ask the next nurse who came into his room about the tune's name and the band who performed it, the main power to hospital went out.

This had two direct effects on Harry. The initial one was dismay, but the secondary emotion he got was one of overwhelming déjà vu. It was still another of those post-crash impressions he was sure he'd felt in the past, yet correspondingly uncertain as to why. At that moment, had anyone cared to ask him, Harry would have told them he'd been in a power outage at a hospital before. And it was a power outage that for whatever reasons, Harry was positive he'd been partly responsible for causing…and with his friends at that. Why in blue blazes had he and the D.A. been shutting out the lights at a hospital for?

A series of rapid knocks came from outside the partially closed door, and Nurse Allie brusquely strode into the room at Harry's bidding, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley close on her heels. The couple was on guard duty together, having sent Ron and Ginny to stay with the Grangers overnight.

Weasley parents along with Allie were bathed in the soft glow of emergency and back-up lighting. The two machines for Harry's use were now functioning on auxiliary battery power.

"Turns out a lorry skidded in the rain, which started a pile-up and caused major damage a power pylon," explained Nurse Allie, "that's why we're having problems here. The main electricity should be back on in about three hours, or so we're told." Allie was very calm and collected and even smiled at Harry. He immediately felt sympathy for any motorists that may have been injured.

Though it felt like his thoughts were sure to boil out of his head, Harry reluctantly found himself being reassured by the young nurse's sunny disposition. She also seemed to catch wind of Harry's preceding turmoil, however.

Gazing intently into his face, she leaned forward and said quietly in his ear, "Did you have another nightmare?"

The young man was startled by Allie's candid question at first, only to realise he should've known he couldn't keep such intense dreaming a secret for long. Even Dudley knew Harry screamed in his sleep. The two others in the room hadn't overheard, as Allie used a very soft voice.

"Yes," he answered the nurse slightly guiltily, "how long have you known?"

He could hear the smile in her tone as she replied, "I always know. It's probably a good thing with you meeting Madam Adonna again tomorrow. She could help you sort out your thoughts and dreams. It's something that needs to happen anyway, as a matter of course for people suffering from affects of the Gemini Stasis Charm. I'm sure that's what a lot of your nocturnal turmoil stems from."

Harry was both fascinated and intimidated by the prospect of speaking to Adonna again, the woman healer who had literally saved him when Harry was an inch from death. It was odd to think a perfect stranger would risk not only performing such an illegal magical bond, but had actually used it on herself as well. Hopefully, conversing with the woman wouldn't be nearly as off-putting as he anticipated it to be. Abruptly, Harry remembered the one thing he'd wanted to ask Nurse Allie specifically.

"I know this will seem like an off topic question, but what was that song that was on earlier? The one on the radio, with the big bell in the background that had the storm-like lyrics. Before the power went out," Harry added helpfully as an afterthought.

"Oh, that's one of my favourites," answered Allie, "I'm a big classic rock fan. The song's called 'Hells Bells' and it's by a group called AC/DC, from their album Back in Black." She and Harry each raised an eyebrow at one another as she contemplated, "I can certainly see why that song would mean something to you."

Turning to go back out the door she said to the Weasleys, "I've got to finish up before going off-shift, but you keep an eye on 'rompecorazones de ojos verdes,'" then she winked at Harry as she walked out the door.

It turned out the young nurse had a Spanish nickname for nearly everybody, though she had yet to tell Harry what his actually meant in English.

The Weasleys took up seats on either side of the darkened room, flanking the bed. It was odd to have such compassionate parental presence close by and Harry didn't quite know what to make of it. He tempered it with the equally strange consolation he derived from being able to find and hear that emotion-invoking song again.

So in the midst of chaos of factors, Harry once again found it within him to feel bizarrely soothed despite all to the contrary. He still hadn't figured out if this was a good or bad thing before he drifted off to nothingness.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

**EXPLANATION STATION:**

**Chavs: (n**.) British, primarily English slang. Refers to bored but usually well off youth, typically 14-18, somewhat scrawny and mouthy, who go around everywhere wearing baseball caps and outrageously expensive (even though usually fake-labeled) zippered running gear (whether they're running or not.) Habitually the lot are big into smoking, hanging out, and 'the bling.' Most chavs have parental funding enough to support their despicably expensive spending habits, yet prefer to nick it off people anyway for the thrill. The key word here is 'wannabe.' Equivalent would be wannabe **'sugar daddy' **or** 'pimp daddy.'**

**Mis doble sietes: (n.)** Uruguayan/Argentine slang. Literal translation is 'my double sevens.' El siete is a term often used by youth in some parts of these countries to describe a particularly 'macho' male, one who is very fit in appearance and often attracts the female eye.

**Lorry: (n.)** British term for large truck, van, or other similar cargo hauling vehicles.

**Rompecorazones de ojos verdes: (n.)** Spanish for 'heartbreaker with green eyes.'

_**Huge huge kudos shout out for Flo for Spanish and Siri for helping me with these terms and Brit-picking my fic for me! Shout- out to dean for helping me with corrections later! Thanks so much!**_


	4. The New Changeling

Dear Readers,

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! I'M BACK IN BLACK! (winks for Firencita)

I apologise for this last chapter being an arduous wait. While I could technically regale you with tales of my sordid summer, I shan't. I do however, want to take the words to say thank you to everyone who waited patiently, and some not so patiently, and believed me when I said I had not yet given up on the story. This is a nice looong chapter, too. Consider your wait rewarded ;P LOL.

Since the concept of this story began well over a year ago (dating to July 2004) and I wrote the thing well before HBP was even released (chappy 3 update for HGC was 1st July 2005) I'm going to stick with my original plot-line lest me and my readers be hopelessly confundled. I will still (accuracy is my bag, man) strive to stay canon as humanly possible with the events of book 6, as well as taking into account Jo Rowling's exclusive 16th July interview with Mugglenet's Emerson and the Leaky Cauldron (shameless props for the best HP sites out there :P.)

That said, LOCK AND LOAD! TIME TO ROCK AND ROLL! WELCOME BACK, SIT DOWN AND ENJOY THE RIDE! Lurve, RAE:D  
BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

Harry sat and absentmindedly drummed his fingers across the top of his knees. He had been subconsciously dreading this meeting. Although it was inevitable that Harry would have to meet up with Madam Adonna again, that didn't necessarily mean he had been happily anticipating the encounter.

A soft knock came at the door causing him to start as he said shortly, "Enter."

The Healer Adonna walked in, dressed as a Muggle and looking even taller than Harry remembered her. It was impossible for him to know what to say to a perfect stranger who had risked their life to save his, let alone express gratitude to those he knew for doing the same thing. Harry found himself commiserating with anyone he'd helped rescue yet had subsequently found themselves incapable of speaking in his presence.

But the Madam's warm tone of voice helped dispel much of his apprehension as she said, "It is a pleasure to formally meet you at last," she smiled, "I am Healer Madam Adonna Tonks," and she offered her hand.

Oddly, Harry had a fleeting intuition that he'd heard the healer introduce herself before. Only...she had used...a deeper voice? _His voice?_ Where had _that_ weird idea come from?

Harry blinked rapidly while he recalled his runaway train of thought, stuck out his hand and hastily replied, "As if you didn't know, I'm Harry Potter..."

As their hands made contact, Harry was mentally jerked back into his odd impression of the healer. In an instant it became much more than impression as his mind's eye was filled with vivid imagery...

Harry was standing in a dank hallway with Nymphadora Tonks and Lupin. They were all staring at another pale and sickly version of..._Harry_? The hair was longer and the eyes were different, but otherwise this individual was his spitting image.

"Do you know who you are?" asked Harry intently of his not-quite-twin in front of him.

"I am Healer Madam Adonna Danekkah Tonks," said the double in a dull monotone...

A brief fuzziness clouded the scene and was replaced by another, no less vivid picture. This time, Harry and his twin were in a car, Ginny Weasley sitting between them, as his copy looked at him directly and said, "... _it's the romance part of Psychromancy, Harry. She knows it, too—has known since you first met._.." But the lips hadn't moved, it was a woman's voice which had filled his mind, and the speech was within him, not without...

Then the double spoke aloud to him, "You're a true changeling, due to your godfather's defence of you..."

Harry abruptly tore his hand away from the healer, moving in such a rapid fashion that Madam Adonna stumbled. Though the images that passed between them had lasted mere seconds, though the two of them had barely moved, Harry's heart was hammering and his breathing had sped up.

"Wh-what...w-was–_that_?" Harry demanded shakily, staring at the healer. He knew that he was sounding rude, but he couldn't help it.

Madam was nearly as unsteady as he was, and answered back, "I...I am...n-not entirely certain. But please tell me now...what did you see?" she asked earnestly.

Harry blinked at her. Had she sensed and seen the same things he had just then?

"I...I...saw–another me? Only–only...it–it wasn't me," Harry explained disjointedly, "anyway...I don't...think it was me, I think...it–it was you...but not you–-_oh, I don't know!_" He broke off in agitation, frustrated with how stupid this was sounding. "It doesn't make any sense!"

"Trust me when I say," answered the healer, "it makes perfect sense. It is also part of the reason why I'm here to speak with you. I bid you, please continue."

"Right then," Harry replied warily, looking askance at Madam Adonna. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you. I just...freaked out..."

"It's okay, I understand," she said.

"Anyway, when you introduced yourself to me...and shook my hand just then, I think I saw you as me. I'm not sure, but I asked you who you were, and you looked mostly like me when you said your name. And suddenly, we were in a car–you and me, with a girl I know named Ginny sitting between us–and you said something about romance or Psyche...thingy... But you didn't say it aloud, it was in my head like telepathically or something. And then you said something else about me being a changeling because of...Sirius's defence of me. Sirius Black is my godfather," he added uncertainly. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to explain this to her, seeing as how he didn't like discussing Sirius at all if he could possibly avoid it. Not to mention, for most intents and purposes, Madam Adonna was still a stranger to him.

Adonna nodded and replied, "Yes, I do know Sirius Black is your godfather. The Weasleys and the Order of the Phoenix have been very good to me while I have been staying at Grimmauld Place. I too was a bit disoriented when I woke up from the charm trance, and needed to have quite a few things explained for me."

Harry knew this was something of an understatement. The Gemini Stasis Charm effects appeared to have a much more direct impact on the healer. Ginny and Ron told him the day Adonna woke up, she hadn't even known who she was.

"How much have you been told about the Gemini Stasis Charm?" inquired Adonna, as if having read his mind.

"Not too much. Mostly that you somehow...connected the two of us with it, and that it helped you to...keep me from dying. Also that it's illegal. From what they tell me, I must've been pretty bad off for you to do something like that. So I guess...thank..you...?" he said awkwardly, and gave her a sidelong glance.

Her eyes grew round as she replied, "Oh my, I didn't come here to wring gratitude out of you, Mr. Potter. Let's just say you're quite welcome." She gazed at him shrewdly and inquired, "I wager you also wouldn't believe me if I said it was all part of the job?"

Another wave of deja vu passed over Harry as Adonna said her last few words.

He tilted his head at her, squinted, and replied, "...no, I suppose...I wouldn't."

The healer's behaviour was a bit off-putting, to be sure. She seemed to anticipate what he was going to say before he said it. Yet he didn't feel threatened by her, exactly.

"Forgive me," continued Adonna, "I've been badgering you with questions ever since I came in. I imagine you've had it up to here with people interrogating you over everything the past few days. So instead, I offer you the chance to inquire of me. Ask any question you'd like," she said amiably. "Only catch is, I don't promise to answer."

"All right," agreed Harry cautiously.

This was certainly a refreshing twist from anybody he'd dealt with lately, except for his friends. Either he was being asked the questions, or they wouldn't answer his very extensively, because he was supposedly too "fragile." He decided to start with something simple.

"What should I call you? Madam Adonna or Adonna?"

"Whichever makes you feel most comfortable."

"Are you here because Dumbledore asked you to come?"

"Yes and no."

"Allie says you might know why I've been having my...nightmares?"

"I have an idea."

"Are you going to tell Dumbledore anything I say to you here?"

"Unless it's about something life-threatening, I wouldn't have any reason to."

Harry paused and looked at her contemplatively. So far, all of her answers had been vague to the point of dodginess. But she still had yet to refuse an answer. Adonna was proving to be one of the most inscrutable people he'd met in the wizard world. He tried a different tack.

"Are you deliberately trying to avoid answering my questions?" asked Harry slyly.

Madam smiled and said, "Most certainly not. Encourage you to ask better ones perhaps, but not avoid answering the ones you've asked."

"Okay," replied Harry, warming to this odd way of conversing. "Why did you want to know how much I knew of the G.S. Charm?"

"Because it is imperative that you be fully educated on the matter."

"According to you or Dumbledore?"

"Both of us."

Harry licked his lips and inquired, "What in particular, does Dumbledore wish me to know of the charm?"

"He wishes you to know, as I do, that it is a spell which can only be used from one Metamorphmagus to the other."

That gave Harry something to think about. The healer was a Metamorphmagus just like Nymphadora. It made sense, if their surnames were both Tonks. But if Adonna was a Metamorph, and the G.S. Charm was only for them...

"And are you trying to tell me..." he trailed off incredulously.

"Not trying to, no. I'll state it straight out: You're a Metamorphmagus, Mr. Potter."

"I'm a _what_? Are you certain?"

Adonna pursed her lips, darted a glance toward the doorway, and pulled a wand out of her pocket.

"Oh yes, I am absolutely sure. Since I don't want you to try anything right now, I'm going to ask you to trust me here." She held her wand aloft to Harry's head.

"Well, you're a healer aren't you?" Harry said, a bit uneasily. "You already saved my life, so hopefully you wouldn't want to do something to reverse that?"

Adonna smiled and replied, "Yes, I'm a fully qualified healer. No, I wouldn't want to hurt you. _Folliculus Azurum!_" she chanted. "But this isn't precisely healing, it's just meant to prove to you that you are indeed a Metamorphmagus."

"What did you do?" Harry asked, running a hand over his head. He hadn't felt anything except the smallest burst of heat from her wand.

"I simply changed your hair colour. When you're an unpractised Metamorph, you'll subconsciously change it back in your sleep. So the effects will have reversed themselves by the time you wake up tomorrow."

"Okay," said Harry, briefly considering asking Adonna what colour his hair was now and deciding instead he'd look in a mirror later. "How many people know about...this?" Nobody had said word one to Harry about his being a Metamorphmagus. He suspected it wasn't kept quiet on accident.

"Tonks hasn't been told outright, but she's guessed it. I know, of course, since that's the only way I would've been able to perform the charm on you. A few others have remarked on the possibility, but nothing more. Dumbledore suspected and questioned me on the fact not too long after I had woken up. After I confirmed it, he swore Tonks and me to secrecy for your protection. It seems he doesn't want the Ministry or any other unsavoury persons to know of it."

So Harry had been right. Dumbledore didn't want anybody to know. The wizard media would be practically drooling over this latest development and news of it would spread like wildfire. Harry didn't wish the Ministry to know anything else about him, that was certain. They'd be breathing down his neck and force him to sign up in their registry.

"Since you performed the charm, you must've been the first to know I was...Metamorph. How could you know that?"

"Actually, I didn't know. It was an educated guess."

"How could you guess?"

"Well, do you remember how when I found you after the crash, your hair was waist-length and your eyes were grey?"

Harry considered this; precise details of what happened after being so severely injured were still a bit hazy to him. But he did remember his hair inexplicably lengthening itself that night, so he nodded at Adonna.

"It was based on that," she continued. "And it was apparently true since the charm worked."

"What then, precisely, does the Gemini Stasis Charm do?"

"It is actually an augmentation of a simpler charm. As you may or may not know, the term 'stasis' means 'suspended animation.' The Stasis Charm is used for Metamorphs when physical transformations become uncontrollable after they become ill. It keeps them looking the same way until they get over whatever is afflicting them."

"What would cause those kind of drastic physical changes?" However incredible the reason, if Harry was a Metamorphmagus now, he figured it was best he learn about the subject.

"Many things can affect transfiguration in magical individuals. Sometimes it can be as simple as a nasty cold, other times it can be something much deeper, such as a great loss, hardship, or similar life trauma." Adonna sat back in her chair. "Metamorphmagi in particular, have a tendency to take on characteristics of someone they love or care deeply for who is hurting. That worry can become so deep-seeded, it may even manifest itself in their own physical traits."

Harry's jaw dropped slightly and he blurted, "I've been thinking about..Sirius a lot lately. And he has–well, had–long black hair and grey eyes." Harry swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. "Could that be why...I..." his words faded away as his chest constricted.

Nodding, Madam Adonna replied, "I believe that is the most likely reason why you looked like him when I found you."

It was difficult to discuss this, especially with someone who had never known his godfather, but he pressed on since he needed to know more.

"And when I shook your hand when you came in here," Harry continued, putting disjointed thoughts together, "I...heard you telling me I was a true changeling, due to my...godfather's defence of me. Could that have meant after the..." he stopped again, even more hesitant about talking of the night he'd discovered the prophecy.

Once more, Adonna seemed to anticipate his unspoken words as she said caringly, "After the Department of Mysteries? Even I don't know that one for sure, but yes. I would say that's the reason why you resembled Sirius the night of the car crash–due to it being so close after his death. I think it awakened the dormant Metamorph abilities within you."

His mouth opened even further in surprise. It was strange to think that he'd been a Metamorph his whole life, and not known it. Then again, there was much about Harry's magical life he hadn't known until it was forced on him. Most of it, in fact.

He gazed at Madam Adonna a bit and asked, "But...why would I have seen you looking as me–when I looked like Sirius–and telling me that? Does it not seem...a rather odd thing to imagine?" he said, hoping he wasn't going nutter or anything.

The side of the healer's mouth quirked as she answered, "To the average person, yes it might indeed seem strange. However, not to me. You see, I _have_ looked like you before. For quite awhile, in fact. Starting shortly after I induced the Gemini Stasis Charm on the Knight Bus and ending about a day after I woke up from the trance."

Harry's eyes widened and he said wonderingly, "Woah, you _did_? I didn't just invent that?" He also determined to quiz his friends on why they hadn't told him of it; they must've known that Adonna had looked like him. She'd been convalescing at Grimmauld Place the entire time with them.

"Oh, and don't bother asking your friends about it. They were specifically asked to not tell you," Adonna continued, as if having read his mind again.

Finally he could hold back no longer and asked her, "And how is it you always seem to know what I'm going to say?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're not using...Legilimency...on me, are you?" Harry said, as if the word caused a nasty taste in his mouth.

He also recalled Adonna had reminded him of Snape once before, too. It occurred when they were on the Knight Bus together; she had stared at him intensely after finding out his eyes were the incorrect colour. She was looking at him much the same way now.

But then she smiled again slightly, very un-Snape-like, and replied, "Astute observation, Mr. Potter. While I am a skilled Legilimens–it's part of a healer's training, after all–I am not currently using that particular skill on you. It would also be quite difficult without a wand," she lifted the object in her hands a little, "and you can see I've not used mine since I changed your hair colour."

Suddenly, a sharp rapping came from the partially opened door and Madam stashed the wand back into her pocket.

"Come in," said Harry, after making sure the wand was properly concealed. They needn't have worried, however.

Nurse Allie strode into the room, looked at Harry weirdly for a bit, smirked, and then went to her task of taking his vitals.

"Sorry to interrupt anything," said Allie with a lilt in her voice, "so how's it going?" she leaned over to Harry's ear and asked him conspiratorially. "She's quite informative, eh? You learning a thing or two?"

Harry looked askance at the healer, who was politely paying attention to something else on the wall as he and Allie spoke.

Nodding intently he answered, "Oh yes, definitely that. Though it's not anything I'd assumed I'd be learning, for sure."

He just barely realised the original reason he'd wanted to speak to Adonna–about his dreams–had still yet to be fully answered.

The nurse gave him a hard look and replied knowingly, "Uh-huh. It's usually that way with Madam Adonna, you know. She's likely to always keep you guessing."

Putting the equipment back into place and finishing notes on a clipboard, Nurse Allie did her traditional stop as she tossed back over her shoulder, "Nice dye job you gave him there, Adonna." Then she looked at Harry, and grinned on her way out, "I never thought you'd request it, but that shade really suits your eyes quite well, Harry," said Allie.

"Wuh–" he began, but Allie was gone.

Then he turned to Adonna and demanded, "What colour did you turn my hair?" Harry began running his hands over his head self-consciously.

Shrugging, she replied, "The subconscious switching back to natural black is most effective only if it starts out a sufficiently garish colour. I did ask for your trust, remember," she reminded, smiling again. "I can change it if you want."

Harry held out his hands and said, "No, no, this is fine. Really."

But wild shades of hot pink and olive drab started dancing through his mind. For however brief a time, he had no desire to look like the Incredible Hulk, the Jolly Green Giant, or even more horrifying–have weirder things called into question if his hair were a brilliant shade of fuschia as he'd seen Tonks wear.

Then he inquired, "Er, so is it okay if I–I mean, do you mind if I still..."

"Keep asking questions?" finished Adonna. "Not at all, we still have much to go over."

He shook his head and queried, "If you're not using Legilimency, how is it that you know things about me, how I might be thinking, what I'm going to say, stuff like that?"

"That is one direct effect of the Gemini Stasis Charm. Let me give you a bit of background knowledge before I elabourate on that. You see, it's a little known fact that Metamorphmagi can naturally assume appearance of another person. Hair and facial features are just the bare minimum of what can be changed. Since it's all self-modified transfiguration–meaning not as a result of a spell or potion–it generally helps if the person being mimicked is around the same body mass and weight. Skeletal enlargement or compression is one of the most difficult things to master, and typically requires years of practise. However, most Metamorphs don't usually care to explore something so complex, they're content with the simplicity instead."

"Really?" asked Harry in astonishment. He couldn't fathom why anybody wouldn't want to fully delve into everything such a magical talent had to offer. "So, you and Tonks can do that, then? Total transfiguration?"

"We most certainly can."

"And...could I...see you do it?" he said, suppressing a surge of excitement.

Normally, Harry wouldn't have asked something of someone he'd just officially met but Adonna seemed agreeable enough. Not to mention he was just dead curious, having barely found out he was a Metamorphmagus himself.

"Please?" added Harry hopefully.

"My, my," Adonna gazed at him, "Aren't we a little demanding?"

He shrugged up at her sheepishly and responded, "May I please see it?" He certainly hadn't meant to offend her.

But she just grinned and replied, "Hmm, you've been stuck at hospital all summer, so I suppose I'll humour you. However..." she stood up and surveyed the corridor, and making sure nobody was around to notice, proceeded to do what Metamorphmagi are best known for.

Harry thought her transformation might look like a combination of what he'd seen Tonks do with her own nose and the bubbling wax-like effect of Polyjuice Potion, but that wasn't the case at all. Rivetted, he watched as Adonna shut her eyes as if in concentration and her features gradually changed in appearance, layer by layer. It was sort of like watching a time-lapse film of stalactite and stalagmite formation, or perhaps the effects of an unseen's sculptor's hands to spinning clay on a pottery wheel. Madam's height even altered as she got a bit shorter. Then her skin texture shifted, followed by her curly hair straightening, shortening, and turning to raven black.

Finally the healer's eyes opened, looked directly into his, and her irises swirled from storm grey to jewel green.

Harry's mouth opened to a big round O after he whispered, "Wow, that is so..."

"Amazing, maybe?" Adonna finished, in perfect imitation of his own voice.

"No," Harry shook his head, "it's bloody fantastic!" he exclaimed, fighting a silly impulse to applaud her. Madam Adonna looked and sounded exactly like him, down to the moles on his jaw-line and the scar on his forehead.

Unexpectedly another knock came on the door and a bored voice called out, "Orderly," waiting for Harry to bid him enter.

Adonna whirled around to face the wall so she couldn't directly be seen, and Harry nervously called, "Come in."

The little man said, "Hullo," but otherwise ignored Harry and Adonna entirely, so apparently absorbed was he with his task of making things orderly. He reminded Harry vividly of a house-elf because of his overly knobbly facial features and large ears.

The healer pretended to be studying the greeting cards, Harry darting occasional worried looks to her out of the corner of his eye. Once she even half-turned away from the wall, and Harry swore he saw a mischievous look on her face. Was she actually enjoying this subterfuge? He blinked, sure he'd imagined the expression. If nothing else, Harry knew now what he looked like when he was causing trouble.

Just as the orderly was about to leave, Adonna said to him in Harry's voice, "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Right then, Mr. Potter," he mumbled and walked out the door.

Harry laughed as Adonna turned around and grinned hugely at him.

"That was brilliant," he said, shaking his head and again contemplating his own morphing talents and who might teach him how to use them.

"Why thank you, kind sir," replied Adonna, and inclined her head, the paragon of politesse. "I humbly request one moment, please."

She then transfigured back to her own look and sat back down again.

"And you say you looked like me for..." Harry did some quick counting, "over eleven _days_?" That didn't sound very good to him.

"Yes," answered Adonna, "and it's generally a very bad idea to do so, as it has a tendency to be very physically taxing on a Metamorph to engage in the practise of prolonged complete transfiguration. It wears on one's endurance, and their ability to transfigure can even deteriorate so far they can no longer morph to their original state. It brings new meaning to the old adage, 'be careful, your face could stick like that,'" she said, raising an eyebrow sardonically. "Mums aren't always wrong about those things."

"And what of the G.S. Charm in this?" he inquired.

"The G.S. Charm actually opens magical connections from Metamorph to Metamorph, allowing them to share their power. This is far, far deeper than just physical or even skeletal appearance, however. It mimics and maps one's entire psychological and physiological state into another person. In a severely sick or injured person, the Stasis charm halts the deterioration, thereby allowing the healthy individual to share their stronger life force with them, and vice versa. In theory, at any rate," said Madam ruefully. "Sometimes the ill party can be so far gone it will wind up taking both parties to their deaths, or worse yet, one sufficiently strong mind or personality can even wind up inadvertently overtaking another's. That's why it is crucial that the Charm Trance not be interrupted, as the likelihood of death or dominance increases if those under it aren't allowed to naturally sort out things and wake of their own accord."

"Yeah, I was told when you woke up, you didn't even know who you were," replied Harry.

Her mouth quirked again and she nodded, "That's true. In fact, I thought I was you."

"You _did_?" he asked astonishedly. Never had he thought of his mind as being powerful enough to overshadow someone else's, and certainly not someone as dynamic as the healer seemed to be.

"Quite," continued Madam, "There's no easy way to sugar-coat the details of that, so again I'll just tell you. I was so thoroughly convinced I was you, because I've had intense recollections of nightmarish things I know haven't happened to me. I didn't even know if they'd happened to you. But false memories and vivid dreams are actually a well-established side effect of the G.S. Trance. I've never been so deeply affected by that charm, but then again the longest I've been under it before is three days."

A bit alarmed now, Harry wondered just what of his own memories that Madam had been able to remember. But suddenly it dawned on him just why Adonna was able to anticipate his answers and way of thinking with pinpoint accuracy. She had been imprinted with his very thought patterns as a result of the Gemini Stasis Charm. For days and days. No wonder the spell had been banned and declared illegal.

"I've been having nightmares too," said Harry, "but I always thought it must've been because of..." he trailed off, lost in thought.

"Because of this?" finished Adonna, pointing to his scar. He nodded.

"Well, has it been paining you as in the past?"

As Harry jogged his memory he said amazedly, "I hadn't even thought of that, but...no. Not at all."

Despite the fact Voldemort had haunted him in his sleep again, it was proving to be it wasn't because of direct outside influence. That was oddly reassuring.

Then Harry's brow furrowed and he continued, "But until we shook hands after you came in here, I haven't had...recollections or dreams of you at all, near as I can remember. Why could that have happened?"

"Well, I happen to be an empathic healer, as well as magic, and I had my mental 'feelers' on full receptivity. Since the charm bound us together for so long, I wager that connection readily flared to life in a way even I hadn't thought it would. I apologise, and I'll be sure to watch myself over that in future. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Oh, well, that's okay," replied Harry, not knowing what else to say.

He didn't want to appear unversed to the term, and made a mental note to ask Hermione about yet another thing...empathic healers and Psychromancy amongst them.

"You probably will have more of my memories interspersed with yours, however." Adonna said extensively, "You were the one of us who was injured, and strong medications can also affect your psyche as well. You've got more to sort out than even me, seeing as how I've had personal experience with these matters. However, those...scenes you described to me at the beginning of our encounter were some of the very same ones I've seen in my own nightmares. In fact, I'm still continuing to have bad dreams, as you are."

"In that case," Harry said sympathetically, "I'm sorry about that."

She smiled and answered, "Please don't be, Mr. Potter. I don't regret that at all, by simple virtue of the fact that we must discuss the subject with one another. For it means you are still here, and very much alive."

Harry shrugged, for lack of an answer. Who could argue with that? True, nightmares were nasty, but then again it could be worse as Madam Adonna handily pointed out.

"Well, I suppose I've taken up enough of your valuable recuperation time," the healer said as she stood up.

He couldn't think why, but Harry found himself not wanting her to leave. Unpredictable though she was, she truly appeared to have no other motivation than wanting to help him. That was indeed a rarity, considering most people only approached him on such a guise if they wanted something out of him.

"But seeing as how you were under Charm Trance for so long, it is part of your treatment that we continue to set follow-up appointments with one another. How about this same time next week? I request that you write down anything you may remember, regardless of you seeing it while awake or asleep. It is important that we might be able to sort out the dream origins." Then Madam smirked, "Hopefully, you won't have anything too embarrassing about my sordid past embedded in your psyche," said Adonna, tilting her head at him.

"I imagine you'll be at your Muggle address next week, so I'll be expecting an owl for confirmation. Oh, and don't forget to keep an eye on your hair," she reminded. "See you next week."

"Thanks for coming," Harry replied. "Till next week, then."

Harry stood up and walked to the mirror in his hospital room, head buzzing with the comparably brief, yet informative conversation he and Adonna just had. Then a sound of amused consternation escaped Harry as he caught full sight of himself in the mirror.

Madam Adonna had turned his hair a shade of brilliant Anime blue.


	5. Magical Mystery Lore

Dear Faithful and Patient Readers,

No, you aren't hallucinating–I really did finally update this thing...lol. If you've gone to my author page, you'd see I posted a comment at the end of June, somewhat explaining my hiatus.

My poor ancient PC (with the faulty hard drive AND mo-board) was fired up after nearly a year in storage, and I took a trip down memory lane. I laughed a lot, cried a lot, and was reminded of just how strong the bonds of friendship are between me and my Internet mates.

Although it may sound maudlin or exaggerative, I would swear on a stack of Potter novels (excluding HBP, unless of course it's the original Brit copy which Jackie sent me P) to anyone who asked me, that because of whom I connected with at that time (over 2 years ago now), that it's the singular largest reason I'm still here on this earth.

I was blessed enough to meet not just one or two extraordinary persons, but _several_, and they helped me redefine my (healthier) reason for living. I guess you could say I owe Harry Potter my life–elsewise I never would've met the people I have, most of whom are still my mates today.

My heart was filled with joy upon the recollection, and I composed the following tribute not just for my chatmates, but for cherished readers as well–Hermione Elizabeth, QueenWeasley, scarhead101, AshleyPotter13, sadfru, Duncan, and many, many others who left me inspired reviews on Harry Gets Even (or were even there from the very, very beginning!), and helped stoke that inferno for my writing. This bud's for you:

_As I embarked upon the journey of writing this story (Harry Gets Even) in early fall 2004, it was purely as a means of catharsis. The very title of the work should give insight to my innermost wishes during the harrowing difficulties of that time. I had been experiencing many dark and excruciating emotions, none of which I felt comfortable expressing in a diary; I never wanted anybody to see text in the future and point fingers, let alone personally recall those torturous thoughts going constantly through my mind. Yet I found another genre through which to channel myself. I identified immensely with young Harry Potter, and quite happily disguised my own experiences as his._

_Shortly thereafter, it exploded from catharsis into fever. I became virtually addicted to the task of writing; so much so that whenever I could find time...between client appointments, at stop-lights in traffic, between bites at the dinner table, I could be found scribbling or editing something with my book. I had been consumed by my mental edict: write or die._

_My Mugglenet chatmates (whom I had become acquainted with purely to find other Potter enthusiasts such as myself) were intrigued by the prospect that I was writing; I spent so much time away from talking to them because I was in that furious authoring mode. Because of their interest and amazing support of what I was doing, I was introduced to the online world of fan fiction–works by fans, for other fans. So I posted my work on some websites that I was given._

_Scarcely did I know just how much effort and passion it takes to write a truly engaging novel–five chapters in, I made a promise to myself that I would finish the work, come hell or high water. My naivete on the subject was a blessing, however. For not only was I sharing with others what I was doing, but I had also acquired followers and fans of my own. The more chatters I met, the more mates I made–and it was they who passed along the word of Harry Gets Even. A school in California even began a club for creative writing based purely from the inspiration of reading my work. The president of the club (a dear mate of mine met on Mugglenet) told me that it wasn't merely students faithfully following each chapter, one by one, but faculty members were as well. My known demographic of readers spanned ages 9-67._

_That meant what I had begun as a means to sort out my own mind and stay out of trouble was now assisting other people. In a matter of months, my literary trek had come full circle–and the book wasn't even finished yet! Inspiration sparked by Jo Rowling's genius, fuelled by Dan Radcliffe's brilliant personification of my hero, and then encouraged continuously by mates and fans alike (especially Beka and Joe, my siblings & first fans) was in turn helping and inspiring others like me. As the letters and reviews poured in, I was floored yet so indescribably touched by the scope of hearts and souls I'd managed to reach, most of whom I've never even met, online or otherwise. Realisation dawned that I wasn't writing this novel any more...the novel was writing me. And what marvelous and immeasurable gifts it has provided, even now._

_I discovered friendship and love of every kind the world over due my passion for Harry and his universe, and I hope in some small way these words convey my never-ending gratitude to all those who have shared time or their lives with me or upon reading this work. Though we'll move on, grow up, and change (hopefully for the better), I wish for this novel (and therefore its sequel) to stand as a testament that the greatest of things can often occur only amidst the darkest of times. May our link of family forged through Harry Potter and his ideals stay with us in the years to come._

_Love Always and For Ever,_

_Raebeth 'Jo' Carson_

_September 2006_

**P.S. MAJOR CONGRATS TO MIKAY! (BOUNCES & SCREAMS LIKE A FANGIRL)**

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

Not surprisingly, Harry's hair did change back to its natural colour. It was now common knowledge for unusual things to happen about his hospital room, so the only thing Allie's staff mentioned about his bright blue locks was how amazingly well the dye was distributed. They didn't seem to care he'd sneaked in a professional–they simply wanted to know who his expert stylist was.

At three weeks to the day, Harry was finally to be released from hospital. Since Professor Dumbledore didn't want the Ministry in particular to know of the young wizard's whereabouts, Harry was actually slipped out the back entrance the night prior the "official" day of his release. Therefore a great many reporters, photographers, and officials were thwarted in their efforts to create a hospital hullabaloo.

Only Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley had come to fetch Harry. The young man sat in the back of their car dreading the upcoming late-night encounter with Aunt Marge and Dudley. With any luck, they'd already be asleep. Mr. Weasley and the professor were also acting unusually austere, so that certainly didn't help his overall mood either.

However, something was definitely afoot at 4 Privet Drive that night. It appeared as if every light in the household had been switched on, since he noticed immediately the happy brightness that showed through the curtained windows as the car pulled into the driveway.

What looked to be a small army of people greeted Harry upon his entrance to the house. And he saw something that simultaneously shocked and delighted him: the interior of the Dursleys' residence that normally carried the sterility of an operating theatre and sombreness of a mausoleum now resembled...a home.

Flowers, teddy bears, and sweet boxes of every size graced the surfaces of the lounge. This otherwise sinfully boring environment alternatively exploded with brilliant colour, which happily blended with the cacophony of voices in the background.

"Welcome home, Harry!"

"This isn't his _real_ home, you know–"

"Your relatives left. Couldn't handle the stress, I'd wager."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish then, I always say."

"George! Show a little tact at least–"

"Pish-posh, Mum. Tact is only for those not witty enough to be sarcastic."

"Make way for the new man of the house!"

Talking over all the chatter would've been pointless, so Harry didn't even try. He also wasn't one-hundred percent recovered yet. If he used his left arm too much, it would pull painfully on his still-healing anterior chest wall. So he was to wear a sling and have more enforced resting for the next few days. _Oh well,_ thought Harry, _it's not like I wasn't going to be spending the time locked up in this dreadful house anyway._ And at the moment, the house was anything but dreadful.

His boisterous yet mindful entourage carefully guided him to the lounge, insisting he seat himself upon the impromptu "throne", better known as Vernon's plushy overstuffed recliner.

Grinning in spite of himself, Harry drew his fingertips across the chair arm and purposefully sat down. Much applause and cheering accompanied this action, but nobody was louder than the twins. Two-thirds of their family was present, along with Hermione and a good cross-section from the Order of the Phoenix.

Gradually, a hush fell over the group as they each turned to beam at Harry.

"Well...?" a deep voice inquired expectantly.

"Well, erm...what're you all doing here?" Harry answered back, still smiling. "Not that it isn't ace to see you..."

"Harry dear, we just wanted to make sure the place was fit for your arrival," said Mrs. Weasley. "We know it must be difficult enough, trying to heal from your latest trauma," she said, as she leaned down to embrace him gently and kissed his forehead.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Making a face behind her mother's back, she elabourated, "What she's trying to say, Harry, is that we wanted to be here in case your Aunt Barge and cousin Dudder-Butter chose to start something stupid, causing you to have a relapse. Right, Mum?"

As Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips to stifle a smile and made a "hmph" noise, everybody else in the room shared a good laugh.

Harry shook his head and said, "And you guys provided all these flowers and stuff? It's amazing..."

"No, all the floral arrangements and gifts are courtesy of your well-wishers," Hermione corrected.

"All except these," said Fred, who came forward to present Harry with a large bag overflowing with goodies. "And there's loads more where that came from," George went on, "that's just a sampler of what we've got at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"Wow!" Harry opened the bag and peered inside. "Everything looks brilliant! Thanks, guys!"

"Yeah, yet you still couldn't even spare any for your own brother," Ron said in a petulant voice.

"Certainly we can," George replied cheerfully, "long as you got the cash, we got the goods."

Heading off any further bickering, Mr. Weasley loudly declared, "Now, I think it's time for dinner!"

Most of the group moved toward the dining area. Only members of the Order remained in the lounge.

Turning back to them, Mr. Weasley asked, "Sure you won't stay–Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore? There's plenty to share."

"No, I've got pressing things which need my attention."

"Sorry, I'm scheduled to go on-shift at work."

"And I, unfortunately, must meet up with a prior engagement."

They took their leave as Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys took their seats around the table. Normally the Dursleys dining room table could only seat four, but it had been enlarged enough to be sprawling out into the hallway. This had to be the best thing of the entire night–tucking into a meal made by Mrs. Weasley.

But Harry was having some difficulty, owing to the fact that he was relegated to the use of only one arm. Everyone guffawed after his failed attempts to cut into a large chunk of roast potato, as the thing instead shot across the room at such velocity that it broke Aunt Petunia's favourite heirloom souffle dish that was displayed upon the wall.

Mrs. Weasley took pity on Harry's plight and asked, "Would you like me to cut up your food for you, dear?"

Harry looked helplessly at his arm in its sling and replied with a sheepish shrug, "If you wouldn't mind terribly, please?"

Sniggers came from one side of the table as his plate was passed to Mrs. Weasley.

"Ron Weasley, I wouldn't act that way if I were you," she said curtly. "After all, I cut up your food for you until you were eleven, and you were perfectly healthy and able."

Ron's face coloured up as his mother revealed this last bit of information. Fred and George adopted oafish looks and pantomimed slicing into their meat in a decidedly stupid-looking fashion.

"Yeah," Ginny joined in, "and Mum had _me_ show him how to do it, so that he wouldn't embarrass himself when he went off to Hogwarts."

The twins were now pretending to gouge out their own eyes with forks.

Hermione burst out laughing, and Ron looked very much like he wanted to put nasty hexes on his family, or leave the table altogether. His face was the shade of beetroot. Harry was also finding it increasingly difficult to hold back his own sniggering.

Dinner continued on much like any other meal Harry had shared with the Weasleys, with one notable exception. This wonderful repast was happening at Privet Drive, of all places.

Between bites of roast beef and parsnip, Harry profusely thanked everyone for the delicious meal and for such a hearty welcome. After eating that rubbish the hospital called "food" for so long, Harry was certain not even a Hogwarts feast could beat Mrs. Weasley's home-cooked fare.

All too soon, Mr. Weasley and the twins got up, bade their goodbyes and had to leave.

"You didn't make all of the food–" Harry pointed to the table, "in _that_ kitchen, did you?" he asked.

Ginny laughed. "No," she said. "Mum didn't want to go through the hassle of figuring out how to make everything around all that Muggle gadgetry."

Mrs. Weasley said something in response, but Harry was paying much more attention to Ginny and the way her eyes twinkled when she laughed. She caught him looking at her and flashed her killer grin; the one that made her nose crinkle up adorably and brought out the little dimple in her left cheek. Harry suddenly found himself devising how he could get her to smile at him again...

"Hello, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley inquired.

With a twinge of chagrin, Harry realised it was the third time she had addressed him. But she continued, thankfully owing his momentary lapse of attention to physical exhaustion. Which wasn't that far from the truth, at any rate.

"I was saying that you look very tired," observed Mrs. Weasley. "We'll have Ron kip upstairs with you, the girls will stay downstairs, and I'll be in your aunt and uncle's room on the top floor. Does that seem okay?"

"Hmm? Er, everything sounds peachy keen to me, Mrs. Weasley. Goodnight," Harry mumbled, as Hermione swiftly turned away and smothered a knowing grin. She had evidently caught him in the act of staring at Ginny again.

Harry attempted to make a discreet exit but was inhibited by all the flamboyant bouquets and things lining both sides of the stairwell, on up the landing, and leading straight into his room. It was like having a sampling of the red carpet treatment–but at least this time he could enjoy it with some friends. Or...perhaps "enjoy" was too strong a term.

As they navigated their way up the steps, Ron's continual harumphing about how "mental" people were to send such extravagant items to a complete stranger echoed Harry's own unspoken thoughts as they changed into pyjamas and Harry fell asleep in practically no time at all.

It sure felt good to at last be in his own bed, even if it meant staying at the Dursley residence. Then again, Harry supposed nearly anyplace would be preferable than spending the better (worse?) part of a month stuck at the hospital.

As Harry was in need of new glasses, Mrs. Weasley scheduled an extra trip to Diagon Alley that summer. He thought they might have to go back again, but apparently in the wizard world, it was much like having robes fitted. It was done on the spot, and one didn't need to come back later–all thanks to magic.

Harry was so elated to finally be allowed to go somewhere further than the end of the driveway that he was nearly falling over himself with anticipation.

"When are we going to go?" he asked anxiously. "Been waiting over an hour now."

Ron gave him a bemused look and replied, "Don't get your knickers in a twist, mate. Since we've no Portkey nor Floo Powder, the four of us each need an escort so we can do Side-Along Disapparation."

"Side-_what_ sort of Disapparating?"

Sighing longsufferingly, Hermione said, "You've known of the magic world how long and you still don't know what 'Side-Along' means?"

Harry was about to defend himself when a voice from his right chimed in.

"Cut him some slack, Hermione," Ginny responded easily. "Remember you're the only one here who reads the following school year's lessons _willingly_."

The bushy-haired girl thought aloud, saying, "That's very true. Also, the Dursleys aren't exactly friendly about wizardly education. Are they, Harry?"

Harry folded his arms and replied, "Let's just say Privet Drive has never fostered a 'magical learning environment'," and everyone smirked while shaking their heads.

Before much longer, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley showed up with Fred and George. Though the mood of the youth remained one of jocularity, the parents cast about surreptitious glaces in all directions. Even the twins each seemed to be keeping a cautious hand close to their wand pockets. The group stayed in a close-knit bunch as they left the Dursleys residence together.

Harry had no illusions about why they were doing this, however. In Muggle and magical media alike, reports of death, mayhem, and destruction of all types were happening with increasing frequency. Only too soon, Voldemort had made the recommencement of his terrorist tactics felt on every level in society. Harry and the Dursleys might still yet prove to be casualties from Voldemort's first wave of havoc. That was if Dumbledore's suspicions were correct.

Every day, Harry tried his hardest to recall what really happened during the crash, and every day the exact details continued to elude him.

Mr. Weasley had the group travel far enough away from Muggle observation to a designated "Disapparation Point." It was just a dilapidated old community park, left to the elements because of local vandals. The activity of urbanites in this area was not only rife but quite violent, and law enforcement was so underfunded as to be nonexistent. In other words, it was the perfect place to do a little stealthy sorcery...even in broad daylight.

Amidst much hemming and hawing from Ron (he did not want to Side-Along Disapparate with one of his brothers), the eight of them shortly found themselves at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry's barely healed injuries twinged fiercely during the process of Disapparating. Even if he was perfectly healthy, Harry was sure he'd never find the sensation of getting sucked through a straw a particularly pleasant experience. He leaned heavily on Mr. Weasley for a time and took the longest to get his bearings.

The Leaky Cauldron was empty as a tomb and echoed with every footstep. Tom, the hunchbacked owner, stared off forlornly into space. He marginally perked up by the prospect of customers but had his hopes dashed immediately. His latest occupants made their way quickly through the building toward the entrance to Diagon Alley.

The street, normally so full of customers and shopkeepers hawking their wares, was nearly as deserted as the Leaky Cauldron. Threats of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had prompted the Ministry to caution all wizardfolk to stay home unless absolutely necessary.

For someone like Harry, such warnings were not only tiresome, but utterly useless. The reason being that if Voldemort wished to get at you, there was very little could be done about it. So why waste time cowering in fear?

Unfortunately, this outlook was not the general consensus of the rest of the wizard community. Some of the Weasleys seemed to share Harry's assessment, but Mr. Weasley pointed out there was no sense in making it any easier for dark wizards by increasing their accessibility to you. Mrs. Weasley was most decidedly actively vigilant to the point of annoyance.

Despite all the precautions taken–Hagrid even met them outside Eelops Owl Emporium, much to the delight of the teenagers–she insisted their outing take as little time as possible. So the group split up and went their respective ways.

Harry watched the twins walk away with regret, as he wanted nothing more than to peruse their joke shop that day. Instead they peeled off from the Weasley parents and followed after Hagrid in the opposite direction.

Anticipation for picking out new glasses rekindled itself quickly, after they stopped for what felt like forever at Gringott's (security had tightened greatly since Lord Voldemort's reappearance). Since Harry had no clue on the cost of eyewear or examinations in the wizard world, he guessed at how much he'd need and then tripled that amount, just to be safe.

"Lynx B. Cockatrice, W.O.I.", read the hanging sign in front of the shop. A border of odd-looking spectacles adorned the wood, which coordinated with the shapes around the shop's window. The words "Wizard Optics Illuminatus" were also painted in a semicircle in the centre of the glass. The little shop barely looked like it could contain five average people, so Hagrid waited for them outside.

"Just how long has it been since you've had new glasses, Harry?" Ginny asked as they made their way through the door.

"Never," he answered.

"Really?" she replied astoundedly.

"Yep. Never had new glasses. I was five when the Dursleys found out I needed to wear them." Harry shrugged, "They obviously couldn't spend good money on specs for someone who wasn't their son, so Aunt Petunia hauled me around to different charity shops until we found a pair that best resembled my prescription."

Ron said dubiously, "So you've had that same pair of _used_ glasses for over a decade?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I suppose I have, at that." Then he smiled and said, "But it would've been a substantially shorter time, had it not been for Hermione's Reparo spell."

"Hello, hello. And welcome, welcome," called out a friendly voice.

An extraordinarily tall and slender wizard materialised from the back of his shop. The deep voice which issued from his throat was in stark contrast to his stick-like appearance, however. He sported long wiry locks and facial hair that were even more flagrantly red than any of the Weasleys', and Harry was immediately given the impression of being addressed by a man-sized Roman candle with clothes. He dutifully glided over to Harry, fluted indigo robes sweeping over the floor in his wake.

"Ah, and here he is–here he is!" The man's stiff handlebar moustache and goatee bobbed up and down with each word. "Albus Dumbledore, a longtime patron of mine, mentioned Harry Potter would be stopping by today." He winked conspiratorially, saying, "None but the best for our most important clients. Heroes are warmly received here. You may each call me 'Master Lynx'." He bowed from the waist, looking somewhat like a sapling bending in a strong wind.

Though Harry was well used to having his name affiliated with other famous wizards, he still couldn't help being immediately put on edge by the optics master's expectant familiarity. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny intuitively adopted his cautious attitude.

"Master Lynx," began Harry pleasantly, "I hate to rush the appointment, but I'm afraid we've not much time. If there's any way we can shorten our stay, it would be very much appreciated."

"Not to worry, not to worry!" exclaimed Master Lynx, again actuating his habit of self-echoing when excited. "I'll just give you the shortened version of our forms to fill out, and we'll go from there. Right then? Right then!"

The tall wizard stepped behind a clerical desk, pulled some parchment forms out of a file, gave Harry a quill, and had him sit at the desk to fill them out.

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione all perused the shop, poking about the plethora of optics on display, pausing occasionally to question Master Lynx about the merchandise.

In the shop were everyday items like half-moon spectacles, Omnioculars, and Spectrespecs, as well as magnifying glasses, monocles, and pocket telescopes. But that was where commonality stopped. Some optics looked more like medieval torture devices, as they were worn wound about the head, face, and body. Others were just nominally eclectic, such as goggles that could interpret foreign language writing into English for the wearer, or the multi-lense spectacles–some of them had as many as eight lenses, cut to different shapes and shades by the pair. Ginny laughed as she held up some glasses with tiny windscreen wipers on them that actually worked.

"Dad would love these!" she exclaimed. "Though we've got the spell to make things waterproof, these are so Muggle that he'd probably wear them every time it rained.."

As Harry filled out the paperwork, he found himself pausing longer and longer between each question. The first ones were standard enough–name, age, birth date, near or farsighted, astigmatic or no. But the following questions ranged from peculiar to downright personal. Wasn't Master Lynx supposed to be in the business of eyewear? Harry thought it odd to be responding to things such as whether he was right or left-handed, what was his preferred brand of toothpaste, what was his favourite team in the International Quidditch League, or if he put his trousers on both legs at once or just one leg at a time, and if the latter, was it the right or left?

By the time he got to the queries entailing what sort of attributes he favoured in a woman, Hermione had come over. Apparently she had noticed the incredulous look growing upon his face. Coming around to Harry's side of the desk, she picked up the parchment and skimmed the remainder of the form. Thankfully, it wasn't too much longer.

"'Do you like to wear cologne, and if so, what brand?', 'Would you hold hands on a first date?'," Hermione read aloud, volume increasing steadily with her surprise. "'Do you like to be the one asking, or the asked?', 'Would you say Minister Fudge is a blithering old windbag or not?'" Ron was chuckling heartily by now, and Ginny too sported a stunned yet bemused expression.

Hermione whirled around to the shopkeeper and demanded, "Master Lynx, what sort of questions are these? What have these to do with picking out a new pair of glasses? Aren't they a bit...personal?"

The wizard smiled and said, "This is just a standard exam in my line of business–the abridged version. If you think these are personal, the queries are much more detailed in the longer version. They include asking if you floss or not, what flavour of floss you prefer, and if you like boxers or briefs, cotton or synthetic."

Ron did a simultaneous choke-snort on his own air this time, and Harry was also quite speechless. Hermione's mouth opened and closed unbelievingly several times, giving her the expression of a mackerel.

Ginny's tongue was quite free, however, as she replied, "And how do we know you don't do some sort of under-the-table side job, such as reporting for the Daily Prophet?" she asked suspiciously. "Those seem just like the sort of answers they're likely to want to get their vulture-like talons on."

Offensive images of Rita Skeeter cropped up in Harry's mind. Ginny was right. How did they know Lynx wasn't doing something sneaky and underhanded?

"While you can't know that for certain I don't do side jobs, perhaps you can look at my reputation for proof of my intentions." Master Lynx answered without hesitation, as if he were quite accustomed to people being sceptical of his objectives. His friendly smile didn't even waver one iota. "I assure you, Mr. Potter's answers shall be kept in strictest confidence," he nodded toward Harry. "The query is meant to pinpoint specific tastes, to better tailor the finished product for the client. The forms are enchanted so only I can see the names after they're written upon. Had that not been the case, I hardly could've stayed in business for years–let alone had repeat business with such customers as Professor Dumbledore."

"Hey, he's right," Harry said, looking down at the blank where he'd written down his name in black ink. "I know I wrote my name down, yet I can't see it anymore."

Master Lynx gestured expansively and replied, "You see? Please finish filling out the questions, and I'll show you precisely how I mean. It's meant to help accentuate what you already have. After all, glasses do make the man. Or woman," he said, giving Hermione and Ginny each a polite nod.

So Harry finished answering the last few questions (hunching over his parchment, just in case his friends felt like being nosey) and handed the forms back to Master Lynx.

The optics wizard then took the papers, placed them in the centre of the floor (a spot which apparently had been enchanted to repel dust and dirt), and aimed his wand toward it, saying, "_Aerodynamicus!" _This caused the forms to fold themselves into a paper aeroplane, which now hovered several feet above the floor.

"_Oculus selecto!"_

The aeroplane then flew off on its own, pointing to several different pair of spectacles around the shop. Humming happily, Master Lynx tracked it around, collecting each pair in an open shallow box. Just when he was about to sit back down at the desk to have Harry try them on, a rattling noise came from the back room. The aeroplane raced toward it so quickly, it became a parchment-coloured blur.

The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed in that direction and he followed the sound. "Very odd" and "most peculiar" was all he said as he walked into the little room. Then he reemerged holding a small yet very ornate silver box.

"It appears my most treasured item has found a new owner," he said, obviously quite astonished.

Seating himself at his desk, the aeroplane dutifully traced his path, unfolded, and put itself away in a file marked, "New Clients".

"Before I show you this," Master Lynx tapped the silver box, "let's have you settle on one of these," and he gestured to the open box with the slimmed down collection of practical specs.

A short time later, while Harry's friends gave thumbs up or down to each pair he modelled, the optics wizard then began to tell them about what was in the mysterious metal box.

"These glasses used to belong to the great Loyu Jeunou," he explained. "He was one of the most famous wizards ever known, but strangely it was only in the Muggle world that the musical talents of him and his three friends were appreciated. In 1964, the four of them became so popular and well-known they were touring the world almost constantly. But a jealous and talentless Squib woman worked her wiles on Loyu, and he left to marry her, which in turn dissolved the music group. Though some of them continued on making great music with other groups, Loyu's life was tragically cut short. He was murdered at barely 40 years of age. Muggle authorities say bullets killed him, but wizards know better. It was his wife–she had him killed and got away with it because she wanted his fortune."

By now, Harry and Hermione were eyeing each other. This story sounded awfully familiar, like that of a certain famous person who grew up in Liverpool...

Master Lynx removed the top of the silver box and showed its contents to an eagerly-waiting audience.

The glasses had a thin metal frame and round flat lenses with a coloured tint. They were unmistakable–every person in Britain over age ten would recognise them.

Harry picked up the box to get a close look and asked, "Master Lynx, are you really saying that these are the glasses that belonged to _the_ John Lennon?"

A tiny expression of distaste passed over the tall wizard's face as he replied, "That was his preferred Muggle name, yes. Nobody knows what he was able to see while wearing these, but the stories are legend." Then he smiled again and said, "And until now, they have sat quietly in their showcase box. But they have sensed your presence, and seem to be rather attached to you, Mr. Potter. And as long as their magic is content, I cannot, in good conscience, charge you for them. Therefore you shall be getting a buy one, get one free deal."

Harry's three friends were happy for him and made exclamations of delight, but Harry protested. He didn't want to be given things for free just because he was famous. People still had to make a living after all. But Master Lynx would hear none of it.

Having previously decided on an oblong set of frames of a silvery black colour and some contact lenses (to improve his Quidditch game, of course), with the Lennon glasses, that meant he needed a fourth item. Harry walked straight over to the spot where Ginny had picked up the glasses with the miniature windscreen wipers. Putting them on the counter with the rest of his purchases, he determined to hand them to Ginny and Ron to give to Mr. Weasley.

As he counted out his money to Master Lynx, the tall wizard said secretively, "I'm not giving them to you because I like you, you know. I'm giving them to you because _they_ like you."

With a last glance, Harry and his friends eyed the bizarrely intriguing Master Lynx and left the shop.


	6. The Sharp Dressed Fink

Dear Readers,

Hugs and kisses for you all! (Mwah!) I'm pleased you liked the chapter so much–those of you I spoke with know I was laughing most of the time I wrote it! Thank you for those who read and/or reviewed–and for those who sent me emails or private messages, I promise I'll get back to you. Especially seeing how it was me who began the contact! ;) I _could_ text you from my phone, but being limited to 256 characters at a time is restrictive to say the least–and I much prefer to answer you properly. I simply don't have a regular net connection like I used to, just my hour allotment at the public library...and that is largely reserved for–you guessed it–editing and posting updates. Hope life is good for each of you, and as always...ENJOY!

Loves,

Me! ;D

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

Harry and his friends were apparently too busy to look where they were going, as all of them ploughed straight into the back of Hagrid upon exiting Master Lynx's shop. It was their misfortune the half-giant was only slightly less yielding than a brick wall; naturally, this caused a pile-up and all four of the teenagers wound up in a heap on the ground. Harry's sack of purchases slipped from his hands because Ginny hit his elbow as they fell. Hagrid's attention was rivetted elsewhere, however–he didn't even flinch or turn around.

"Yeh slippery divvil!" Hagrid said loudly, "I told yeh he's none o' yer business, an' ter leave 'em alone–" he made an unsuccessful grab for something.

From what Harry could tell, somebody had dashed around the half-giant and started sifting through the dropped belongings on the ground.

"Hey, whadda you think you're–" protested Harry, pushing himself to kneeling position.

If Harry were to describe the man he saw with a single term, that term would be "terminally pointy". He had pointed black shoes with white spats, long pointed nose and chin, thin black pointy eyebrows and moustache, and his slicked hair was combed down into two curled points on his forehead. The loud suit he wore was designed–quite pointedly–with tiny black and white striping, somewhat giving him the look of a two-legged zebra. The jacket was embellished with pointed tails, underneath which was a waistcoat set off with two lower points in front. Even his black swagger stick was pointed at one end. It was this implement he was using to poke about Harry's stuff.

Yet the man wasn't making any move to steal anything. He was just pushing things aside with the swagger stick, as if he were looking for something...incriminating, perhaps? Plus he'd already agitated Hagrid. One thing was clear–the stranger's shenanigans needed stopped _now_.

"Those are my _things,_" emphasized Harry dangerously, leaning over to sweep the items back into the bag. He stood up in a split-second, "So I'll _kindly_ thank you to bugger off and leave us alone."

Harry had whisked his wand out so quickly, all the pointy man could do was freeze and blink at its end for a few moments. Then a sneer flickered across the man's haughty features.

He replied, speaking in an unbelievably nasal-sounding voice, "In a moment, Mr. Potter. I've not properly introduced myself yet." Harry had to stop himself cringing.

"I am Mr. Zedward Finkle," he continued snootily, circling Harry as if he were scrutinising a prized stallion for purchase. Harry said nothing, keeping his wand trained on the other.

"I know who you are," Hermione said angrily, stepping up behind Harry. "I've read about you in the Daily Prophet." Then for her friend's benefit, "He's the one who went to court and actually _defended_ some of those Death Eaters who tried to kill us in the Department of Mysteries." All four teenagers now had there wands aimed at Finkle.

"Aye, tha' he is," agreed Hagrid with equal ire, "an' tha' Lucius Malfoy'd be one of 'em."

"Sadly, yes," Finkle said, trying unsuccessfully to adopt a tone of regret. "Unfortunately, business for my profession is scarce in these trying times."

"And what profession would that be?" asked Ron. "How to get matey with the most notoriously vile wizard in the world?"

"Either way, he's obviously not clever enough for it." Ginny stated baldly. "Every last client still wound up in prison."

Upon seeing the rumpus going on down the street, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had hurriedly moved in the direction of Harry and his friends. Mr. Weasley loudly cleared his throat and began speaking.

"Hagrid, Harry, everyone?" he said, using his official "I'm with the Ministry" tone. "What seems to be the trouble here? Has this wizard been bothering you?" Clearly, Mr. Weasley knew all about Finkle, as there was a note of barely-repressed disgust in his voice.

"Yeah," said Hagrid. "Seen 'im lurkin' outside the optics shop, spyin' on Harry. Told 'im ter get lost–I know his kind."

Harry said, "And when we came out of the shop, I dropped my things by mistake. He stepped around Hagrid and started going through my stuff, as if he were going to steal it. That's when wands were drawn."

For posterity's sake, Mr. Weasley turned to Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to ask, "And you three–does this concur with your version of events?" They each nodded and said, "Yes."

"Zed Finkle," Mr. Weasley said, "it appears that you have offended these five people with your actions. Due the overwhelming majority, I'm sorry that I must request you leave or face the consequences." He didn't sound one bit sorry.

Finkle narrowed his eyes at Mr. Weasley in a look of utmost repugnance. "I won't elabourate on what I usually reserve for the requests of blood traitors." Rather than backing down, Mr. Weasley folded his arms and refused to be intimidated.

"Blood traitor or no, I do what the law dictates," he enunciated carefully, "_unlike many purists_." Mr. Weasley's latest assignment with the Ministry had evidently given him a new semblance of aplomb. It caught Finkle off-guard for a second.

"Don't presume to tell me about the law just because of your inconsequential promotion at the Ministry." He turned to leer at Harry and resumed in his detestable voice, "At any rate, I certainly got what I came for." Then he pointed his swagger stick and said threateningly, "You'd better enjoy that wand while you can, Mr. Potter. This may just be the last time you ever use it."

Finkle whirled around and took off up the street, coattails swaying pointedly with his unctuous stride.

"Why that miserable, insufferable–" Mr. Weasley began, as soon as their offender was out of earshot. He visibly calmed himself, saying, "Business must really be bad if Finkle's willing to face being caught in a public–"

"Oh, Arthur!" cried Mrs. Weasley, gazing most fondly at her husband. "You were so magnificent! The way you handled that overbearing Mr. Finkle; why I've never been so proud!" As Mr. Weasley turned to look at her, she leaned closer and warmly embraced him.

"Not now, Molly," Mr. Weasley said exasperatedly, attempting to extricate himself from his wife's arms. Regardless, Harry noticed a marked difference about how he carried himself from that point on. So that was where Ron got his cocky strut.

As they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry checked to make sure none of his new optics purchases had been broken during the row with Finkle. Each of the pairs of eyewear had its own protective hard case, so thankfully nothing was damaged.

"There aren't many of Finkle's profession in the wizard world," Mr. Weasley said. "He's a Judiciary Presenter, and only more affluent clientele can even afford to pay for their services. Finkle in particular has a knack for being connected to the most infamous wizard trials of the last twenty years. Some are certain,"and Mr. Weasley sounded quite sure himself, "that he is somehow directly responsible for drumming up his own business, though nobody's been able to prove it. I, for one, wouldn't be surprised if it was he who gave Umbridge the idea to send those Dementors to your neighbourhood last summer."

Harry fought the urge to growl at the mention of Dolores Umbridge and her exploits over the past year. If she and Finkle were in contact, it was no wonder Harry developed such an instant dislike for the man.

Hermione said darkly, "We've a term for Finkle's type in the Muggle world."

"Oh yes," replied Mr. Weasley, "I've heard that you call them something like 'Lowers'? Or is it 'Liars'?"

"That's close enough," Harry replied, smirking in spite of himself.

Tossing Harry a wry look, Hermione said, "I wasn't referring to his official title–just what he appears to do surreptitiously. The term is 'ambulance chaser'."

Since Mr. Weasley had never heard the term before, he exhorted Hermione to tell him what it meant. Hermione launched into a long and boring description about what ambulances were, how they were used, and so on. Several times Ron looked as if he wanted to say something sarcastic, yet even as he opened his mouth, Hermione would shoot him a deathly glare, effectively silencing Ron. Harry became absorbed in his own thoughts of Finkle and Umbridge.

Mr. Weasley was so caught up in asking questions about Hermione's subject matter, the conversation between the two carried them all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron. The twins were there, watching over their parents' few recent purchases and waiting to escort everyone back to Little Whinging.

Feeling somewhat sorry for Tom, the Leaky's owner, Harry persuaded Mrs. Weasley to let him treat everyone to a round of butterbeer. This was also his first outing anywhere in a month, so Harry was determined to make it last as long as possible. After explaining to Fred and George what happened with Finkle (Way to go, Dad! Pity we'd not been there...) they all toasted a rather embarrassed, if pleased Mr. Weasley.

The last of the butterbeers was drained and everyone stood up to leave. Grateful their trip to Diagon Alley had ended on a positive note, Harry tried to focus on that as he closed his eyes, gripped Mr. Weasley's arm, and was ceremoniously sucked all the way back to Surrey.

**(0) (0) (0)**

"You've got enough junk food to open up your own sweet shop," Ron observed, happily munching on his sixth licorice wand. He certainly didn't seem so disenchanted with the gifts from Harry's well-wishers now. Harry was also quite delighted to have acquired enough wizard chocolate to satisfy his cravings.

Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Ron were all soaking up the sun in the Dursley's back yard. Harry's friends recounted, for the umpteenth time, how Dudley had watched them with his piggy eyes as they carried all of the goodies for Harry into the house before he came home. Aunt Marge had evidently forbade him to touch any of it.

Harry was sporting his sunglasses, thoroughly enjoying telling his friends about the weird yet intriguing things he could see while wearing them. It was quickly noted nobody but he could wear or even touch the specs. When anybody else got near them, they would receive a nasty shock. It was Ron who discovered that unpleasant little feature, and he swore loudly enough for Mrs. Weasley to hear him all the way from Harry's room to the back yard.

"Sometimes I can see...I dunno, this ghosting effect around things; especially living things when I wear these. It's really cool, and everybody seems to have their own ghosting colour around them." The longer he wore the glasses, the more he noticed what others couldn't see. Many things he saw spiked his sense of deja vu, and he catalogued these times so he could tell Madam Adonna when she came to see him the next day.

"Then I suppose not everything Lennon got his inspiration from was related to experimenting with recreational drugs," Hermione said sarcastically. She obviously didn't share Harry's fascination, but at least she had stopped with her incessant badgering of "You don't really think those belonged to John Lennon?"

Ginny became interested and said, "You mean those things actually let you see aural magic?"

"Yeah, I guess they do sometimes," said Harry, "I really wish that you lot could see how I mean." Ginny was haloed in radiant yet calming greenish-blue. He wished to tell her how beautiful it was, but Harry supposed that adding "My, what a lovely aura you have," to the conversation would seem much more creepy than complimentary.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, "Professor Dumbledore is here to see you, and he brought a...a guest." Immediately, Harry noticed the unease in the way she said "guest".

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I'll be right in."

"She doesn't seem too keen on Dumbledore's guest," said Hermione shrewdly, as Harry switched his glasses.

He shrugged, and replied, "See you in a bit."

Upon entrance to the house, Harry saw immediately why Mrs. Weasley was less than enthused with their unexpected company. He sympathised with her greatly.

Severus Snape sat straight-backed on the sofa in the lounge, black eyes surveying everything with complete disdain, wearing an expression as if he'd like to vomit on something. He was seated so far forward it appeared he thought the couch might contaminate him, or perhaps swallow him whole. _If only,_ thought Harry.

The mere sight of the greasy loathsome professor was enough to make Harry want to curse him into next week–quite a strong reaction, even for Harry, considering the potions master had yet to speak. Mrs. Weasley appeared not to have given Snape a choice if he wanted tea or not, as he sat holding one of Aunt Petunia's frilly pastel cup and saucer sets in his hand. Snape's doom and gloom presence was in such contrast with the jubilant surroundings of bouquets and stuffed animals, that Harry had a brief impression of Ebenezer Scrooge and his "bah, humbug" routine, so he nearly burst out laughing.

His mirth was short-lived, however. Harry fervently hoped Dumbledore wouldn't ask him about how his studying was coming along (anytime he'd managed to crack a book, his mind had wandered off elsewhere). The headmaster also had a cup of undrunk tea in his lap, evidently preoccupied with other concerns. Most unfortunately, the reason the elder gentleman had shown up was much more ominous than checking up on summertime academic habits. Dumbledore had Harry sit next to he and Snape, wasting no time explaining the reason for his visit.

"If you recall the last time we spoke, Harry, I told you that Minister Fudge was actively fighting being ousted from his position. I also explained in his bid to remain minister, he was looking for every possible way he could to cast responsibility and negative publicity away from himself?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry, nodding. Snape showed no reaction.

"It was my premonition the minister may cast aspersions your way as well. Both Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Snape–two gentlemen of very different assignment–have informed me this is no longer a mere possibility; plans have indeed been formulated to take action against you. It is unclear if Fudge himself is behind it, or if he simply heard of what was going on and decided to run with it. I am most tempted to believe the latter."

_Bloody wonderful,_ Harry thought irritatedly, _as if there's not enough rubbish that's happened this summer already._

"Do you know what it is Fudge is planning to do, sir?" asked Harry. Snape's expression remained resolutely scornful.

"I am nearly certain the avenue he has chosen is the legal system. Your fortuitously running across Finkle in Diagon Alley is a glaring sign of that. This time, you will be charged with a much more serious allegation than whether or not you committed the offence of underage magic–though we're not sure what that is yet. In the hearing you had last year, I was able to intervene on your behalf–but only because the issue of you remaining at Hogwarts or not directly concerned the school's headmaster. Undoubtedly the next attack will be through the actual court itself, as opposed to through the school board–most likely it will involve you being tried as an adult. No doubt Fudge will see to it the issue of my defending you presents a conflict of interest. Therefore, in regards to your protection, Severus had graciously agreed to represent you when the need arises."

It was only then that Snape's facial expression melted into one of anticipant malice. Harry had no doubt it was due the look of abject terror on his own features...his life flashed before very his eyes. Snape was now wearing his own dour version of a smile, a ghastly rictus that made his hooked nose look more beak-like than ever.

Was Dumbledore finally going senile in his old age? Only a madman would think to have Severus Snape represent a Potter in a court of law. The potions master was more likely to ask the authorities to reinstate the death penalty specifically for Harry, as opposed to actively intervening on his behalf. Since it was impossible for the young man to voice such thoughts and remain respectful, he stewed in the chafing silence.

"Speechless, I see," Snape spoke up, stupendously enjoying the effect this latest bit of news was having on Harry. "Per usual, Potter, you display your appalling lack of gratitude toward my assisting you out of yet another of these situations you keep landing yourself in." Dumbledore looked at Harry expectantly.

Fighting the urge to spit, Harry quietly said, "Thank you, _Professor_," through tightly clenched teeth. He would not call Snape "sir" if he could possibly help it.

"Although, Severus, it is hardly Harry's fault that Cornelius won't step down from office." The headmaster reminded, "If I recall, he has even cast some very public aspersions in your direction–those events about your past."

Looking supremely rankled, Snape nodded in affirmation to Dumbledore. "Yes, it is a burden one must deal with. Much like being assigned to defend a juvenile ingrate in a tedious trial." He always managed to twist his answers around to cast Harry in a bad light.

"At any rate, Potter, you needn't worry yourself with trifles such as specific charges or plans of defence. I will win, but not because I believe in your personal justice. I will win because I _never_ lose." Snape stated his last words with such arrogant vehemence, it caused a maniacal glint to form in his eyes. It was anything but reassuring.

"I don't like to make this such a hasty visit, but Professor Snape and I must be going. Do you have any questions about what we've just discussed?"

Harry had approximately one zillion questions which he wanted the headmaster to answer, most of them centring along the lines of, "Are you barking _mad?"_ Needless to say, he kept those all to himself.

"Erm, I do have one, sir. When is the minister's plot supposed to happen?"

"Sometime after your birthday, if that's what you were wondering, Harry," Dumbledore said. For the first time since arriving, the headmaster smiled at him affectionately. "And Ministry dealings aside, I do hope you have as happy a birthday as possible."

"Yes, sir," said Harry. "Thank you, sir."

At least the Ministry showed willingness to let Harry turn sixteen before subjecting him to any more of their rubbish. Harry supposed he should be thankful for small miracles.

Dumbledore handed him his teacup upon leaving. It was only then Harry realised that he, like Snape, had never sipped its contents. It was completely uncharacteristic of the headmaster not to partake of offered refreshment, and Harry couldn't help but be disturbed by this deviation from such established habit. It was this one distinct difference, even more than their entire following conversation which signified to Harry the ominous things to come, filled him with an unshakable sense of foreboding. Harry fervently hoped Professor Dumbledore wasn't leaving him behind like last year, like the cold teacup in Harry's hand, abandoned and untouched.

**(0) (0) (0)**

"Is he barking _mad!"_ Ginny and Ron exclaimed together.

Harry had just told them about what had just gone on between he, Snape, and Dumbledore in the lounge. The Weasley siblings markedly were in full agreement with Harry's personal take on the situation. Hermione, however, had a completely different viewpoint.

"I don't know," she said. "I mean, let's think about it for a moment. Since Dumbledore can't represent you, he would obviously choose somebody very close to him. He'd also require someone who would have the gumption to face the Ministry, someone whom the Ministry would take seriously, and someone who has enough know-how about the law and your background so as to defend you on a moment's notice. Is there anybody else besides Snape that could possibly fill that role?"

"McGonagall," suggested Ginny. "What about her?"

"No good," Harry said, "she's lumped into the whole conflict of interest thing, because she's deputy headmistress and my Head of House."

"And Lupin's not someone the Ministry would take seriously, him being a werewolf and all," said Ron.

"That's right," replied Hermione. "Plus Kingsley, Tonks, and Mr. Weasley all have their jobs with the Ministry already, and I doubt Tonks would have the knowledge to defend you anyway. Kingsley and Tonks probably don't know enough about your background, regardless."

"I doubt Tonks is someone the Ministry would take seriously, even though she's an Auror," Ginny contemplated. "Besides, she looked a little worse for wear at Harry's welcoming back party. And I know for certain a whole roomful of Ministry malcontents would never take my dad seriously, even if he knew how to defend someone in court. Which he doesn't," she added, the evident letdown colouring her voice.

One by one, all possible candidates were similarly eliminated from the pool of possible contenders for Harry's representation. All except Snape.

"What about that Madam Adonna, who's coming to see you tomorrow?" suggested Ron offhandedly.

"I've no idea how much she knows about me, nor the law. But the reason why she had to reschedule my appointment for tomorrow is because she's embroiled in court proceedings herself," Harry said ruefully. "Which is really low of the Ministry, I think."

"Yes, it does seem quite unfair," agreed Hermione. "I guess she did break medical law by using the Gemini Stasis Charm, but seeing as you're both alive and well, it should be painfully plain that she was justified in doing so."

"And since when has the Ministry had a decent track record of doing what's right, let alone doing what's just?" Harry questioned bitterly. "With all that's going on in the world, the only thing they ever think of is themselves, how they can save face."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Hedwig and another unfamiliar, large screech owl. Each of them was carrying something rather big–which required both talons to manage. Hermione had her subscription to the Daily Prophet, and tipped the screech owl with the proper change to accept her item. Harry hadn't sent for anything, however. It was with utmost curiosity that he read his name in flowing script atop of a box, wrapped in plain brown paper tied with plain brown string. The handwriting looked vaguely recognisable, yet Harry couldn't place it. The box was also quite battered and had decidedly seen better days. He fed Hedwig some owl treats and asked her with interest, "Where've you gone off to pick this up, hmm?" Before Harry could open his parcel however, Hermione released a sound of dismay.

"Oh no! The headline says Amelia Bones was found brutally murdered in her own place last night,"she scanned the remainder of the page, "and they don't know who did it, neither do they have anybody in custody, nor any leads yet."

"Typical dirty Death Eater deed, if you ask me," said Ron.

As Harry and his friends had discussed capable people they knew of who could replace Fudge as Minister, Amelia Bones was a name that he mentioned with each conversation. Now that she was dead, he had even less hope for the wizarding government. He became so absorbed with this news, Harry momentarily forgot the package that Hedwig brought him.

"Hey, are you gonna open that, or should I?" Ginny caught his attention by tugging on the string of the box.

"Oh, er, yeah," Harry said sheepishly. "Lemme just..." and he reached out to open the care-worn package. He looked inside and saw what looked to be many, many letters, all addressed to him, in the same precise, flowing handwriting. Some of the parchment was yellowed with age; other letters didn't look nearly so old. There was a comparably newer one on the top which read, "Please read this first."

Harry opened it and read:

Dear Harry,

I've yet to think of a good reason why I've held onto these for so long.  
I suppose I was waiting for the elusive "proper moment". After your  
parents were murdered, Pettigrew believed dead, and Sirius incarcerated  
for the act, I often reflected on the only son any of my best mates had  
managed to have. I knew as you grew older, you would hear all sorts of  
things about your parents and the company they kept. As the group's  
solitary survivor, I took it upon myself to write you letters, so that you  
might better come to know Lily and James from somebody who had  
regular contact with them firsthand.

I regret not being able to send them, as I had no idea where you were nor  
how to get them to you. I thought I'd avoided that altogether two different  
times; the first was when I became your teacher, yet somehow giving you  
the letters then didn't seem professionally appropriate. The second instance  
was when Sirius was reunited with us–I assumed we'd all have more time,  
and he would take responsibility for filling you in about your folks. Either  
way, the time is long past that I should've given them to you.

So I hope you enjoy this collection, part chronicle, part friendship, about  
the people whom I spent so much time with at Hogwarts. I'm not sure  
how many there are, nor do I think I'll be writing any more–Dumbledore's  
assignment for me is far too dangerous to risk giving one's self away.  
Therefore my advice to you is savour them–maybe for a rainy day, or  
perhaps when you can truly appreciate the read.

Most Sincerely,  
Remus J. Lupin


	7. Lupin's Letters and Potter's Song

Dear Readers,

As if you couldn't tell, I'm a Beatles fan. Then again who isn't, eh:P The last was an immensely tricky chapter to write, as I began to weave together pre-HBP and post-OotP canon information in with the threads of my own story. Tricky tricky tricky! But also fun fun fun!

I began writing the last two chapters with much trepidation...multiple-line dialogue of already-established characters is usually very, very difficult. I had done it before in HGE, but I'd never done established scenes with the Weasley family–just Gred and Forge. I'd also never done an ongoing scene with Snape...so I was nervous, nervous, nervous. I heart the Weasleys, so I didn't wanna screw it up. But once I started, it was CAKE! I enjoyed myself so much sometimes it was hard to know where to cut the scene.

That said, this here chapter is _completely_ different...I wasn't expecting it to happen while writing, but it made me cry a little. Therefore I'm putting up my official TEARJERKER ALERT! So if you're macho and have a rep to keep up, don't read this in front of other people. ;P

_You have been warned._

Rae ;)

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

As Harry finished reading the explanatory letter, warm tingles stole over him. It was immensely touching to find out that Sirius wasn't the only Marauder who had remained mindful of Harry over the years. Lupin had to have put hours of time and care into this treasure trove of past memories...there looked to be around a hundred scrolls in the parcel, of various lengths.

Harry's first inclination was to start now and finish the letters as fast as he could read them. Hungry as he was for more information about his parents, however, he decided to take Lupin's advice to savour the writing. It wasn't everyday someone was fortunate enough to be given such an amazing gift...it would be the best idea to stretch out the experience as long as he could. Lupin added a P.S. saying to read them in chronological order, and that the first one was dated as far back as 3rd November, 1981–three days after Harry's life was irrevocably changed by Lord Voldemort. Harry decided he would read that one before he went to sleep that night.

Everyone else was similarly impressed by the duration of Lupin's thoughtfulness. Mrs. Weasley remarked how fifteen years was a long time to continue such one-sided correspondence–especially with someone who would've been incapable of answering the first ten years of it. She also commented how Harry needed to get a much sturdier, airtight container to keep the letters in–and the sooner, the better.

The arrival of Lupin's parcel had all but driven thoughts of Harry's meeting with Dumbledore and Snape from his mind. Harry crawled into bed, full of anticipation and admittedly, more than just a tinge of nervousness. The more he'd thought about it that day, the more Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to know all of what Lupin had written in those letters. The reason being that Harry now knew some distasteful acts his brash young father and godfather had committed as teens. He kept thinking back on those scenes in the Pensieve, where James had been almost unspeakably cruel and arrogant to Snape. Definitively, that was not a part of Harry's heritage he would ever be proud of.

Nevertheless, these writings were also about Lily...and Harry wouldn't be able to gather all those things about his mother without reading everything else. It was as it should be, Harry supposed, to take the good with the bad...the bitter with the sweet. Lily and James had got the notion to marry one another sometime in the past, so his father couldn't have been completely terrible–could he?

Harry lay there contemplating the first scroll for so long that Ron was now snoring in his sleep, even though the lamp had been on the whole time. Sighing, Harry finally concluded, after all the effort Lupin had put into the writing, that he certainly owed it to the man to pour over it.

The string tied around the scroll was so old that after Harry pulled it off, it still held its shape. With great deliberation, he unrolled the yellowed parchment and read:

Dear Little Harry,

I've no idea when or if you'll ever read this, but I find myself needing to do  
something, anything constructive due the events of the past three days.  
Magicfolk still celebrate with capital jubilation that which you, as a small  
toddler, managed to accomplish on Halloween night. It was a feat even the  
greatest of all good wizards, many who have given their lives to preserve the  
light, hadn't even come close to doing. For you see, baby Harry, you seem  
to have vanquished the evil Lord Voldemort when he attempted to murder  
you. More incredible still, you'll live to tell about it. That's what the people  
call you now–The Boy Who Lived.

And yet amidst all the celebrators, there are those of us who mourn their  
losses after this terrifying war. After the deaths of three close friends in  
three days, and another close friend being the one who caused their murders  
to happen, one cannot help but be overwhelmed by their own confusion  
and grief.

No one stops to think about what it cost the young Potter family to be able  
to halt evil in its tracks. I've no doubt that even now, Lily and James would  
say that no price is too high, but as one of the ones left behind, I'm not so  
certain any more.

It still defies comprehension that Sirius Black is responsible for betraying your  
parents to Voldemort...I still cannot fathom him doing it. But that isn't the only  
crime he's committed, unfortunately. It takes the most sinister of individuals to  
deliberately murder only one other, and Sirius allegedly did so to _thirteen_ people  
on a crowded street, with a single spell. Among those people was another old  
and mutual friend of ours, Peter Pettigrew, of whom they found only a finger  
since he was closest to Sirius when the wicked curse was evoked. It's now only  
a matter of time before he is sentenced to life in Azkaban at the age of  
twenty-three. Therefore you not only have no parents, little Harry, but no  
godfather to take care of you either.

Here are the basics of why Sirius's betrayal is so foreign to me. As the Blacks  
are notorious purists, Sirius's only brother Regulus, joined the Death Eaters–  
much to the delight of their parents. As a youth, Sirius was so fed up with the  
rampant prejudice, that he became a blood traitor. Being effectively dead to  
his own family, James's parents took Sirius in for the remainder of Sirius's  
education at Hogwarts. He had even been sorted into Gryffindor House–  
the only direct Black descendant in history. After twelve years, I would've  
hoped that I knew Sirius as if he were my own brother...but I guess people  
can change...and drastically.

Though Dumbledore is a truly great wizard, and no one would be able to give  
you better protection than he...I believe he has an altruistic streak that blinds  
him to reality in some ways. I've heard that you're now living somewhere  
with Lily's sister, Petunia. I also know something about the reputation of your  
Muggle aunt and cannot imagine her family giving you a good time of it.

Hence my reasons for writing you are threefold: I wish for you to know about  
your parents' lives, I wish for you to know that Sirius Black wasn't always a  
twisted vicious soul, and I hope that by telling you these things it will somehow  
give you and I both peace of mind, even if your peace won't be for years to come.  
But at this point, both I and my quill are spent, so I shall resume this by-and-by.

Signed, James's old mate,  
Remus J. Lupin

In a single letter, Lupin had already broadened Harry's perspective. Never before had he truly appreciated how young his parents and the other Marauders were when their lives became so affected by the ongoing war at the time. They hadn't been any older than Tonks was now.

Like Harry, Lupin had also lost his family, of a sort. Additionally, he'd lost the members all at once, had no one to talk to about it...so he wrote to somebody he hoped would understand, and clung to the notion for fifteen long years.

Harry's eyes misted over and his heart went out to Remus Lupin of times past...a young man who even in his darkest season of isolation and pain, had so perfectly foreseen someone else's desperate need for what he had to say so far into his and Harry's own shadowy futures.

"Thank you...so much," Harry whispered to the letter, as he slid the string back over the scroll, placed it carefully in the box, and switched off the light.

**(0) (0) (0)**

Harry was in the changing rooms, getting strapped into his Quidditch gear for another big game. He and the Gryffindors had been working extra hard and they were sure to give the Slytherins a pounding down they'd not soon forget. Yet as Harry looked around, he realised he was the only one in the room. Where was the rest of the team? They'd walked in together...could they have left for the pitch without him seeing?

And another odd thing...he noticed no actual pigment in anything. Harry rubbed his eyes, sure his vision was playing tricks on him...but again, his uniform and all his surroundings remained staunchly devoid of all colour. Everything remained in variant shades of grey.

Forgetting his Firebolt, he took off down the hallway for the Quidditch Pitch, determined to solve at least one of the following mysteries. Instead, he was greeted by yet another. This one was by far the largest enigma of the moment.

"Hello, Harry," the smiling conundrum spoke to him, while casually leaning up against the wall. "All chuffed for the game, I see."

Caught soundly off-guard, Harry nearly tripped over his own feet as he turned to stare at the person standing next to him.

"S-Sirius?" said Harry disbelievingly. He blinked rapidly and asked, "What...what are you doing here?"

"I'm surprised by you, Harry," Sirius leaned off the wall. "Do you really think I'd miss your final match ever?"

"My...final...what are you talking about?"

"Always so many questions, Harry." Sirius shook his head and smiled again. "Just once, you should learn from me and simply take the plunge. Go out there–everybody's waiting for you."

"Me?" Harry asked in befuddlement. Was this his godfather's idea of a joke? "Why wait for me? I mean, I can't play a Quidditch game all by myself."

"Hmm," said Sirius, pretending to ponder something, "I don't recall anyone saying this was for a Quidditch game. Be careful what you assume, Harry."

"Not...for...Quid...but..." spluttered Harry. Hadn't the team walked into the changing rooms with him? And there was the pitch, straight outside...any lout in uniform would've thought "Quidditch Match".

"I can't say who expects you out there, Harry," Sirius responded. "But I can say that you are dressed that way since you are a flyer. Because nobody–and I mean nobody–can soar like you do." Then he walked away from Harry and out of sight toward the pitch.

Hurriedly, Harry chased after him...but as he turned the corner, Sirius had inexplicably vanished. But his godfather's voice spoke one last time, filling the air above him, "Like your parents, though, I'm willing to watch...and wait. I'll see you on the flip-side, Harry."

The young man opened his mouth to ask Sirius to please stay, they had so much to talk about...but the drastic changes to the Quidditch Pitch stilled his protest.

Not only was everything stayed in the same depressing shades of grey, as if Harry were starring in his own old-fashioned horror flick, but there were no other players, no referee, no Quidditch equipment, and no noisy fans. Harry turned slowly on the spot, seeing that twice as many grandstands than normal lined the sides of the pitch. Despite being chock-full of people nobody cheered or jeered. When he caught sight of the rings, chills started running up and down his spine...all six centres of the scoring hoops were draped over in black fabric, and each adorned with the letters "HP".

All at once, it became clear to Harry what Sirius meant...final match...no Quidditch...the sole player...the sombre spectators...

"I am aware there are those among you who question the reason we are holding this memorial service on the Quidditch Pitch today," said a very serious Albus Dumbledore. His voice sprang up so suddenly, Harry jerked toward it as if stung.

The headmaster stood in front of the hoops on the north side of the pitch, turned so he could address both sides of the grandstands. What looked to be the school choir and an orchestra were arrayed in place behind him on the grass of the pitch.

"The simple answer for that is Harry Potter's young friends," continued Dumbledore. "It is not frivolity that motivated them; rather it was with deepest respect they approached me and requested we not do what tradition dictates. They know more than anyone that Harry was a fighter, a survivor, a bright and vibrant soul who was not afraid to stand up for others. And as each of you are aware, he faced down Lord Voldemort no less than five times in his young life."

He didn't know why, but the most powerful, nearly aching sense of deja vu swept over and through Harry, as if he'd heard his headmaster give a eulogy about him before...but why? It was almost as if Harry had passed on prior to now, in some other lifetime...

Dumbledore's voice grew more intense as he continued, "Harry Potter's schoolmates also requested very specifically that we not wear black. 'Don't let this be viewed as a termination of mortality,' they said, 'but a commemoration of life, and all that he stood for.'"

Harry was overcome; it felt as if his heart had stuck somewhere in his throat. Though he couldn't see the individual colour, the darkest shade amongst all the greys was the black on the scoring hoops–not a single person seemed to have worn it.

"Now, let us reflect a moment." Dumbledore's gaze briefly dropped somewhere below the grandstands, then he looked back up and went on. "What exactly did Harry Potter stand for? If you say courage, justice, and integrity, you would indeed be right. Yet that barely scratches the surface. Those of us fortunate enough to have known him would also say he stood for friendship and family–despite being an orphan, teaching and teamwork–as his fellow students can attest, loyalty and leadership, character and compassion, trust and truth."

_Am I seeing my own future? _Harry wondered desperately. _No...this can't be real,_ his hysteria rapidly increased, _it's just a dream, all a horrid dream...that's why I saw Sirius. _He closed his eyes tight shut, willing himself to wake up..._please wake up! I can't have died, I don't even remember it happening..._

"Therefore, Harry Potter's friends rightfully pointed out that such a dynamic person as he would not wish for us to remember him as he died, but rather as he lived–and loved."

Just when Harry thought he would surely explode with the conflicting shock within him–both from conviction that he had died, and consternation that he hadn't–something audible and pure rent the air, curing the deafening silence which seemed to stretch forever...

He b'came wizard world's most famous child,  
Whose eyes were green, whose hair was wild.  
'Cause one night, th'Evil Man did all he could...

It was as if someone were syphoning away the fear which gripped Harry to his very centre. Slowly, he opened his eyes as the poetry poured over the pitch...the words of Harry's life set to haunting music...the innocent, unaccompanied lament of a small Irish student in the school choir.

To take his life, and even had  
The power to slay the boy's mum and dad.  
Since Evil lost that fight...is all well and good?

Astoundingly, the student was cast in a ray of splendid sunlight...it was like his voice had the power to pierce the thick clouds of the overcast sky. No, more than that–Harry gasped– everywhere the light touched instantly blossomed into richest colour. Then the rest of the vocalists joined the boy in chorus:

And we never took the time to answer  
About the little boy, and what he'd do.  
Evil dispelled, most of us took for granted  
This tiny child had filled an older man's shoes.

Some strings in the orchestra picked up the melody as the singers finished the chorus, thawing still more of the mind-numbing discord inside of Harry. Up in the sky, the break in the clouds grew ever larger, transforming the music makers and the pitch into an ocean of rainbow hue.

Ten years, a closet was his room;  
Neglect, abuse, and endless gloom  
'Til a letter from old Hogwarts set him free.  
Though those who saw forbade him leave  
He said, "So long, I've been deceived..."  
"Now I'll go to find that wizard in me."

Harry didn't know if it was deliberate or imagined, but the sonorous effect round the pitch was more befitting a hall in the most majestic of all cathedrals. Each movement in the song was more beautiful than the next, every following verse sung by a different quartet, accompanied by more instruments in exquisite harmonies...

So they never took the time to tell him  
Who he really was; what he could do.  
By fear and hatred, tried to fell him  
But deep within, the boy already knew.

Turning his face up to the grandstands, Harry saw that nearly everybody had stood up out of their seats, due the draw of warm sunlight and inspiring music. They too were enchanted and comforted by the layers of sound, finding themselves caught up in it...they could neither speak nor sit still. In another theme, a seventh year's voice rang out over all the others, as if from Harry's own perspective:

Take my hand, aside my journey  
Ere beset by anger, worry–  
Fight to keep these changes all in stride.  
I wonder who would help me break the spell;  
Who'll lift me from my private hell.  
Is this spark dark or light I feel inside?

Halfway through, the melody went through several key changes. The mood of the song shifted from personal lamentation to glorious, aspiring hope. Each chord flowed into Harry's mind, through his very soul, spoke soothing vibes to every aching part of him. Transfixed, he moved from where he stood, irresistibly drawn to the nexus of harmony.

Forced to mature before his time  
Each trial he faced more like a crime  
He fought what fight he did for me and you.  
Though from us now, our boy has gone,  
His memory goes on, and strong;  
He walked the mile within a grown man's shoes.

Harry's loneliness and pain were gone now, replaced by resonating joy and healing from the musicians' intricately woven song. He turned back the way he came, only to see the entire audience had left the grandstands and filled the green of the pitch behind him. Nobody remained in drab shadows; the light encompassed everything and colourised all it touched. Assembly and musician alike stood together for the final climactic crescendo.

Now we endeavour to convey it  
The legacy of all the boy did do.  
If we could ask, he'd meekly say this:  
Inside, I'm just the same as all of you.

The orchestra and choir rested for the last two lyrical phrases. The seventh year sang:

Look up, reach out, remember if you can.

And the Irish first year drew it to a close, with no less power than when he began:

Please don't forget our boy inside the man.

At Dumbledore's cue, all the people threw their arms above their heads. Sheer crystalline clamour cleft the skies, and Harry looked heavenward to see thousands of tiny golden Snitches hovering aloft the green. Each miniature of its predecessor sprouted wings and took off for the gap in the clouds toward the light.

Sudden clarity came to Harry, and he knew what he had to do. He cast his glance up at the sun, closed his eyes to let the warmth caress his face, joyously envisioning himself doing what he did best...for Harry soared.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

I dunno why I bother notating sometimes; I guess it's for the 2 of readers who actually read what the author says, and again for the .0002 who actually tell me they've read it...lol ;P

I had someone beta-read this chapter, and she asked me where I got the inspiration for it. I told her, and she said I should mention it, so here goes.

Mid-June two years ago, not long after I'd seen the brand-new Azkaban movie, I was still suffering from the loss of a dear friend. Her departure was unexpected and tragic. She was only in her early 40s...having been struck by a car, declared brain-dead, Carolyn lay comatose for a week before succumbing to her injuries. (Which is why I'm so mindful of you, Becca! LOVES!)

So one night, I literally dreamed that I saw Harry Potter's memorial service–I dreamt of his death. I also dreamed of his watching it, just as written...Harry being present to hear what all the people wanted to say of him. It wasn't...sad, though. I found great comfort in my dream, and especially in the music–all the lyrics came from the dream as well. I can still recall it vividly.

At exactly two years to the day, I had the dream again this year. This time, someone even closer to me than Carolyn had abruptly ceased his life. Anthony was my greatest love, merely in his mid-thirties when he died, and I feared that I might surely be crushed under the weight of his loss. Again I found immense comfort within the music of this dream.

Writing this chapter made me chiefly mindful of people whose lives are cut short. For example, the hostage situation in a Colorado high school this past week...so reminiscent of Columbine, where a teenage girl died of gunshot wounds. Then in my old hometown, a stone's throw from where I am now...another 16-year-old girl was stabbed to death by two 16-year-old boys from her own high school.

All four of the people mentioned above went before they should have...abruptly, tragically, violently. No one suffers more than their families...and especially children. I can't speak for the two young girls, but I know my friends would not want me to linger in the pain of their loss– that's what I gleaned from my dream. So this chapter is for those who mourn, lost in the questions of why these things happen. You'll probably never receive the answer, and you'll never stop missing them. But remember that they miss you too. It's okay to grieve, okay to cry...ties of friendship and love do not cease with death. While grief and pain do fade with time, love _never ever _does. Just have faith you can meet up later...and soar together.

Thanks for you who bothered to read this.

Rae :)


	8. Scar Tissue

Dear Readers,

I have to say...the reviews I got this past chapter made me weep far more than even writing the words did. A mere "thank-you" would be far too inadequate to describe the encouraging words I was given...especially considering the depth of friendship I have with many of you. I'll just say that what you shared with me shall be treasured for a lifetime...the present one, and the next.

This chapter is not nearly so heavy...after churning out the last two (the updates were posted just 4 days apart if you noticed) I really needed a break from the intensity...takes a lot for me to write that way. :) And now we've just more storybuilding...a necessary evil, yet you have my word it's quite entertaining nonetheless. I know if it's boring to write, it'll be boring to read...so rest assured knowing I can't stand writing boring stuff. So...lucky you. XP

And...enjoy!

Rae ;)

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

Even though he was up early before everyone else, Harry couldn't recall having felt this serene...since...ever. He had awoken from his transcendent dream, awash in bright sunbeams streaming through the window. Grabbing quill, ink, and paper, he stole downstairs. Harry was determined to write down everything he could remember, and not just for Madam Adonna this time. It was for himself; he hoped by recording it that he may be able to bask in its serenity as long as he was able. This had been his first dream since the car crash that wasn't a perpetual nightmare, pervaded with scenes of distress, agony, pain. Harry was sure that reading Lupin's letter was what trigged it. Their elusive peace Remus spoke of in the end paragraph had indeed begun to happen...already.

In his haste to finish, Harry had acquired quite a collection of ink stains on his hands and was attempting to remove the worst of them over the bathroom sink. That was one of Aunt Petunia's pet peeves–she usually shrieked when she found faded black in her precious basin. Thoughts of her and Uncle Vernon still unconscious and in the hospital were enough to bring Harry off his emotional high.

His enforced, lifelong series of stays at the Dursley residence had been anything but agreeable, as Harry's relatives had only let him remain there under threat of repercussions from Dumbledore. They were maniacally in denial of magic. Harry had discovered that was due the ingrained fear that Harry's not only being a wizard, but one ofthe _premiere_ wizards of the magic world would somehow be responsible for bringing them in harm's way someday. Unfortunately, that appeared to be precisely what had happened. Their maltreatment notwithstanding, it was getting harder for Harry to stave off the guilt which pricked at his heart the longer he stayed in his aunt and uncle's home while they were absent and ill.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a bit, wondering if Madam Adonna was going to teach him anything about morphing techniques that day. The jagged new mark across Harry's face was just starting to fade. He was glad of it; the last thing he wanted on his forehead was a new scar to match the old one. It was a painful reminder of the crash and the last imprint from his old pair of spectacles.

Harry was still getting used to the look of his new glasses. Mrs. Weasley said they gave him a mature appearance more like that of a college student. He didn't really care what it was they did for his looks, he'd simply chosen this pair since Ginny had liked these on him the most. Harry dunked his comb under the faucet, running it pointlessly through his unruly hair. It didn't matter how long he worked at it, the style was always going to look as if he'd just rolled out of bed. But if he tweaked it...just...right...ah, yes. He could get it to conceal most of his latest scar.

Having heard someone pass the door while he was in the bathroom, Harry went downstairs to see who else was awake. Hermione was standing over the stove, looking as if she were cooking something for breakfast. Harry considered her a moment, watching behind her back from the kitchen doorway. She hadn't seen him yet.

Mrs. Weasley had understandably gotten tired of not making meals on-site, so Harry had given her brief instruction on how to use the various "eckeltricity-run" appliances. She'd picked up on everything fantastically fast, her least favourite task being that gravy was made by painstakingly stirring roux over the stove instead of being conjured from a wand tip. Universally, the Weasleys' favourite kitchen feature was the ice and water dispenser in the freezer door. The reason being it was the thing that most resembled "real" magic.

Hermione had stayed pretty much clear of the kitchen, and Harry hadn't even noticed it until now. That was most likely why seeing her cooking had caught his attention, seemed out of place to him.

"Morning," said Harry, walking up behind her, "need any help?"

"N-NO!" Hermione practically shouted, nearly dropping her kitchen utensil. "Why? D-Does it look like I need helping?"

He didn't know if the bushy-haired girl were simply startled from being so intent on her task, or if she was agitated that Harry was present to watch her cook in the first place.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Harry said reasonably, "I saw the eggs on the counter, and thought you might want help cooking breakfast."

"No, erm, I-I'm just fine," Hermione stuttered, "I just wanted to do something back for Mrs. Weasley, since she's always cooking for us and everything. Sort of, sort of a thank-you type thing, you know. You can go, if you want. I'll–I'll come get you when it's ready."

"Okay then," Harry replied carefully. "And I think that's an ace idea, but I'll go if you want. Cheers." It was obvious Hermione was most keen on his removing himself from the kitchen.

Harry turned to leave but happened to see what was over the hotplate. There was a form for poached eggs in a shallow pan, yet something was distinctly wrong. All four eggs were still in their shells.

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" Harry repeated. "It's really no trouble. Er, if you're trying to make poached eggs, that's not how–"

"I know, I know!" said a very flustered Hermione, "I get so caught up in wanting to do everything just right, I forget stupid things! I never learnt how to cook when I was little, and since going to boarding school at Hogwarts, I've not had time then either..."

She continued on her explanatory rant of being an atrocious cook, that cooking was something she needed to know how to do before she graduated, how she had less than two years left...

Harry proceeded to calm Hermione by demonstrating for her how one should properly make poached eggs. He made two of them, so Hermione could do the next two.

"Wow. You're really great at that," she commented, upon his finishing.

Shrugging, Harry said, "It's not that difficult. But I ought to be good at it. Aunt Petunia would send me to school without breakfast if I screwed it up. It's a good incentive–you would've got good at it too." Hermione chuckled and shook her head.

"Now it's your turn," Harry told her. "Give it a go."

Once she was calmed down enough and discovered that Harry wasn't going to openly mock her lack of home ability in the kitchen, she was fairly decent at the cooking thing.

However, Harry quickly decided for Hermione's novice skill, they'd better try the waffle iron this time...he could just imagine the disaster of her trying to flip pancakes. He had never thought it a particularly useful thing that his Muggle aunt had made him cook for the family from such an early age, but after Hermione's compliments and watching her struggle with it, Harry saw just how beneficial such know-how could be.

He also became supremely aware of the irony...it wasn't often that Harry was able to best Hermione's practical knowledge on anything, and usually it was over something the girl didn't really care about in the first place–like Quidditch. His bushy-haired best friend was even less likely to acknowledge it when he did know more than her on something; Dark Arts Defence was the only subject he could think of off the top of his head.

"You know..." Harry began, the urge to tease Hermione getting the better of him, "you'd better not let the boys at school know you can't cook, or they might forget dating you altogether. It was you who pointed out the way to a man's heart is through his stomach...Crabbe and Goyle, second-year," he reminded. "Potions you can do, but pancakes?" he goaded sceptically. Harry was, of course, hoping Hermione would cotton on that he was referring to a specific red-haired boy at school who also happened to be a friend of theirs...

"Which is why I'm _so_ lucky to have you teach me, Little Mr. Homemaker," Hermione answered back sarcastically. "So you can wipe that cheeky smirk off your face. If you say word one, I'm going straight to Ginny and say how you like her–"

"Whoa now," protested Harry, "who says that I fancy Ginny? Isn't she going out with Dean anyway?"

Sighing, Hermione mirrored his smirk, "Since when has a girl going out with somebody else ever stopped another bloke from fancying her?" she questioned pointedly. "It's only obvious, you know, the way you're always ogling her, as if Ginny were the most beautiful thing since Aphrodite..."

Hermione knew full well that Harry wouldn't mention her fledgling cooking status to anyone, but even in jest he didn't want Hermione to suggest he liked Ginny...not when Ginny could hear, especially. Harry couldn't take the risk of it ruining his friendship with Ron.

"Fine, fine," Harry held up his hands, still unable to keep from smiling. He couldn't fault Hermione, it was he who started this round. "I promise your secret lack of domestic skill is safe with me." Then he said, "But I do not ogle, thank you very much. I am a gentleman." Harry folded his arms, imposing the most dignified-yet-affronted look he could manage.

Hermione eyed him a drawn-out moment, as if staring long enough might allow her to discern cracks in his facade. "No, you're right," she agreed finally. "You don't ogle–that's a Ron thing. You do however, stare pointedly for unusually excessive amounts of time, with your mouth agape so that one of these days I swear you'll start attracting flies..."

With a spluttering of laughter, Harry conceded their conversational joust. "Okay! I yield! You win! Truce?" he held out his hand, which was spattered with waffle batter.

"Now who can refuse an offer like that?" said Hermione dubiously. But then she held out her hand to shake his and said, "Truce."

"Hey good-lookin'. Whatcha got cookin'?" Ginny said from behind him, as she walked into the kitchen. Hearing her voice these days always made Harry's stomach feel as if he'd swallowed a half dozen fluttering Snitches.

This time, the nature of Ginny's quip not only caused Harry to halt what he was doing, but his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Scarcely daring to hope, he held his breath, turned around–

"Oh, just a little something for breakfast," answered Hermione.

–only to realise, with more disappointment than he cared to admit, that it was Hermione whom Ginny had addressed, and not him. Quickly covering his letdown, he turned back to the stove to finish transferring sausage links from the pan to a serving plate.

"All made with Muggle thingy-ma-bobs, huh?" Ginny asked.

"It's the only way I know how to cook," answered Hermione, removing a waffle from the iron. Harry coughed politely.

"And I," said Harry, ignoring Hermione's sharpened glance.

He picked up the serving plate and walked toward the table. Ron, who was clad in slippers, pyjamas and dressing gown, sauntered sleepily over to a chair.

"Oooh!" Ron exclaimed through a poorly-covered yawn. "Poached eggs are my fave! Wonder what they taste like Muggle-made..."

Hermione set a plate in front of Ron. Harry noticed straight off everything on Ron's plate was stuff that Harry had cooked. He also distinctly heard the bushy-haired girl mutter to herself, "yes, I know they're your fave..." Perhaps Harry had nailed Hermione's seemingly inexplicable need to learn how to cook without even meaning to...he wanted to flash her a knowing look, but she appeared to be purposefully ignoring him at present.

Harry was thus distracted while placing the sausage plate on the table. Before he could set it down, something suddenly snaked around Harry's waist.

"Quality control!" Ginny blurted, nicking a sausage from the plate. Her arm and hand again brushed Harry's ribcage as she slid away; every place Ginny had come in contact with became intensively electrified as Harry realised who had touched him. "And these are _my_ fave," she said, taking a bite of sausage, "mmm, delectable." Harry seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

"Smooth move, slick," said Ron wryly.

"Wuh?"

Ron pointed toward Harry's hand, and Harry looked down to see all the sausages had tumbled off the plate onto the table in a greasy heap.

"Well, that's one unique way to use a serving platter," said Hermione as she seated herself across from Ron, her voice rife with sarcasm. Ginny giggled and helped Harry scoop the links back onto the plate. He went and got a washrag to sop the grease off the table top.

"Marry me, Hermione."

Ginny, Harry and Hermione all turned to gape at Ron in astonishment, but he was too busy tucking into his breakfast to notice.

"These are beyond compare," he continued. "Not even Mum could make better poached eggs than these."

"Thank you," said Hermione, hastily. But then she regained her mordacity while saying, "If the calibre of your morning meal is your sole requisite for proposing marriage, I can think of more important qualities you should look for in a spouse."

"Eh, why don't you just tell him 'yes' and get it over with? You're doomed now," Ginny said to Hermione, but her gaze was stuck squarely upon Harry.

Once more Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head, but this time it was because he could hardly contain the laughter building within him. How Ginny had guessed their charade was beyond him... Hermione's humming the first few bars of "Here Comes the Bride" did wonders to sober Harry up, though...and thankfully the song's significance was completely lost on Ginny. Harry amusingly considered the ensuing brevity of his and Hermione's so-called "truce".

Mrs. Weasley then walked back into the house from her early morning outing with her husband. She was surprised and delighted to find breakfast already planned for, and Ron continually raved how he was spoilt for Hermione's "Muggle-made scrummies".

In this fun, easy-going atmosphere, Harry couldn't help but actualise that all it took to transform 4 Privet Drive from oppressive to enjoyable was his friends. The stereo was softly playing an acoustic song called "I Love" by Athlete in the background, and Harry found himself reflecting again...

Fire on the hill,  
Fire in me still;  
I feel out of my league.  
But you turn around and say to me that,  
"I love everybody here."  
And I agree–  
I love everybody here.

After his dream last night, it was pointless for Harry not to contemplate the meaning of all his mates meant to him. Even after the horrid meeting with Dumbledore and Snape, he'd found it impossible to dwell on the negative due being constantly surrounded by his friends, near and far...and this song captured his current mood toward them perfectly.

Th' sun has long gone out;  
Sun comes up like it's been about a year.  
But I don't mind if we  
Drink again, my friend...  
'Cause there is so much left to say.  
And there is so much left to...say,  
There is so much left to say...

Ron had just told a particularly funny joke, but Harry was so swept up in the song now that he hadn't caught a single word. Time stretched out, slow-motion like, and Harry smiled while watching everybody else laugh together.

People for miles, openin' up;  
People for miles, in focus and not.  
We'd be okay if...  
We had answers to questions  
In rhymes and in reasons–  
You'd leave it to me to be  
All of four seasons...

And in that moment, it dawned on Harry what had affected him the most about last night's dream. It wasn't in his own imagination that his friends knew him well enough to directly tell Dumbledore what Harry might want in a memoriam. It was all real and true. And what was more, none of them yet knew of Harry's destiny to destroy Lord Voldemort...they could discern his inner drive without even knowing the motivation behind it.

And you say, "I love everybody here."  
And I agree–I love everybody here.  
I love everybody here.  
Well, I love everybody here.  
I love everybody here...  
Well, life is beautiful, for sure  
'Cause I love everybody here.

Ginny turned to him, pointing Harry out to the others gathered round. She smiled and had everybody else raise his or her glass of orange juice, jokingly trying to bring him out of his reverie.

"To Harry!" she exclaimed.

"To Harry!" echoed Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione, each downing the remainder of their orange juice in one go.


	9. Muses

Dear Readers, 

WELCOME BACK AGAIN! I've actually had this part of my story planned out before I was even finished writing Harry Gets Even...ah man it's been too long since I posted, but I couldn't help it! Gracious...I'm so sorry it took me so long to post again but...urgh...you honestly would not believe the stuff that's happened with me since I last posted. But thank you to you newcomers to this story–the ones who've reviewed since February or so...getting reviews, even a few, helps keep me wanting to write this story–it's nice to be appreciated and acknowledged. Hope you like this chapter...and haha, you know how this goes...ENJOY!

Love,

Rae ;D

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

The Burrow had been barely inhabited all summer, due the Weasleys graciously minding first Madam Adonna's and then Harry's well-being following the car wreck. Mrs. Weasley therefore decided the day of Harry's appointment with Madam Adonna (along with giving Harry more privacy) would be the perfect day to take Ron and Ginny home with her. They would be gone the majority of the day to "get the house ready for company" for when everyone left Privet Drive for good very soon . This sort of amused Harry and not only because Ron was annoyed about it. Harry was just so accustomed to staying at the Burrow, he no longer considered himself on guest status.

This was also the last opportunity for Harry to speak one-on-one with Hermione about the unusual terms Madam Adonna had used in his initial session with her. Hermione acted quite amazed when Harry had asked her out of the blue what Psychromancy was. She immediately asked where he'd heard the word and he reclarified it was briefly mentioned in his first appointment with Madam Adonna. Hermione's curiosity piqued even higher as Harry further expounded he'd heard it used in a waking vision, when he'd shaken hands with Adonna, and that the Healer appeared to have called Harry himself a Psychromancer.

"Why, what of it?" Harry inquired. "Is it a forbidden or hush-hush subject like Parseltongue or Voldemort?"

"No, it's nothing like that," answered Hermione, "it's just not a very common term. I haven't read too much on what Psychromancers are, but I do recall, very specifically, that they are not numbered among us living people. They are supernatural, spiritual beings. That's why I was so surprised when you explained that Madam Adonna had called you a Psychromancer. Whether your vision was real or imagined, it would be extraordinary in any case. That would most likely mean you'd have to be–"

"That I'd have to be dead," Harry finished intuitively. And again he and Hermione privately mulled over the topic. He could almost see the words "Hogwarts library" running across Hermione's mind...she was wanting to look this up, and look it up now.

As it had been deemed foolhardy for anyone in the wizard world to travel alone any more, appropriately enough Madam Adonna was accompanied by Tonks upon her arrival for Harry's appointment.

"If you don't do something about it, then I will," the Healer said to her cousin heatedly. "He's someone who means a lot to you, you can't just allow the ignoring to continue–ah, hello Mr. Potter," Adonna switched her conversational focus mid-sentence as Harry carefully opened the front door. "It is most agreeable to see you again."

"Hello, Madam Adonna," he replied, "and thanks for making such a distant house call." He turned to Tonks and said, "Hello to you, too."

Without even looking at Harry, Tonks replied tersely, "Wotcher, Harry." She continued to the Healer, "I'll see you in an hour, then." Then to both of them the Auror said, "Good day," spun on her heel, and marched off down the street. Clearly, despite Ministry warnings she had no desire to hang around the Dursley residence while in a row with her elder cousin.

After an imperceptible shake of her head, the Madam walked through the doorway and followed Harry to the lounge.

"I'm gratified that Headmaster Dumbledore was quite right when he told me you are doing remarkably well," commented the Healer, scrutinising Harry appraisingly.

Smiling, the young man responded, "Much as you like seeing it, I like feeling better a whole lot more. Now having a prolonged convalescence under my belt, I can decisively conclude that being a human slug is not something I'd recommend for anyone."

"I can certainly see how it would put a damper on one's social life," the Healer quipped, easily returning his smile.

"So..." Harry continued, "I suppose I should talk about this, then," and he moved his parchment sheets of notes off the lamp table next to him. "I've had loads of flashbacks and deja vu moments since last we spoke. They really increased after I got these," Harry now opened the silver case of his sunglasses and put the box on the coffee table in front of Adonna.

"May I?" the Healer inquired, hovering a hand over the sunglasses case.

"Of course," said the young man, "but I wouldn't recommend taking–!" he exclaimed.

Madam Adonna had plucked the glasses straight from their box without any trouble at all. She was obviously not experiencing the type of distress anybody else had when having tried touching the specs.

"How–how are you doing that?" Harry asked, astonished.

Now puzzled by his reaction, Adonna glanced at him and replied, "I simply reached in and took them out."

"But...when anybody else has tried touching them they get burned or shocked. That's what I'm so surprised."

"Where did you get these?"

Harry briefly told her the story of how he'd acquired his Lennon sunglasses. Though her outward reaction was mild, Harry could tell she was quite keen on knowing more about his experiences with them. He told her how when he wore them, they allowed him to see a ghosting effect, and what Ginny had referred to as "aural magic."

"That is quite fascinating," replied the Healer. "I've never heard of an object, magical or otherwise, that allows the wearer to see such things. The ability to see that level of magic is catalogued as being inherent _only_, meaning it cannot be learned–you must be born with the talent." She continued to examine the sunglasses.

"Erm, you're welcome to try them on if you want," Harry said.

A brief grin flashed across Madam Adonna's face as she explained, "Oh, I don't need glasses to see magical auras. I can sense them–feel them, as well as see them. That's how I know so much about the subject, as it's part of my empathic healing technique."

"Oh," said Harry, now feeling a little foolish at having made his offer. Of course she'd know more about the subject than he and his friends.

The Healer was oblivious to his embarrassment, however, and she turned to him again saying, "You say that when you wear these, you feel as if you've seen magical auras before?"

"Oh yes, it's...it's become nearly unreal, how I feel sure I've experienced the ability before. What's most annoying of all is that I can't recall _why_ I feel that way. Sometimes, I'll have brief flashes of being in other places–seeing other things, people, objects–with aural magic surrounding everything. I don't know if I've simply dreamt it having happened, but every time it happens, I feel certain I've experienced it long before I ever got these," Harry pointed to the silver case, which was now sitting back on the coffee table. "But...but even those experiences...seem as if they're all tied in together with those nightmares, too. Like they're all part of this series of dreams. I've...I've had dreams quite like these before, but...the pain and confusion from them were from well outside my...myself," he sort of came to a stop, train of thought derailing by recollections of the visions Voldemort had sent him during fifth year.

He shook himself from his reverie, aware that Madam Adonna was politely yet intently observing him. "Sorry," he mumbled subconsciously," then he said, "but the night before last, I started having a lot less nightmares," he told her cheerily. He told her that even though he felt unsure about so much stuff, he was finding it easier to stay more upbeat than before. He explained to her about the dream of his memorial service and the song within it. And Harry further explained how it had all started with the gift of Lupin's letters to him.

All in all, he spent so much time talking about himself that Harry felt impolite for having monopolised their conversation but the Healer never once interrupted him. Her interstitial commentary was also quite reassuring.

"I'm quite pleased to know you've found ways to lift your spirits," Madam Adonna said. "In fact, you now appear well enough improved for me to give you instruction on further honing your skills as a Metamorphmagus."

Harry shifted in his seat anticipantly and exclaimed, "Cool!" as his insides did a little leap of joy.

The Healer chuckled at his reaction and said, "It won't be anything particularly difficult, but I'll give you a few simple things to try until next we meet up. First, let's just have you try changing your own eyebrows followed by eye colour. Some people find it easier to switch each eye or brow one at a time; some people can't help but do both of them simultaneously. You'll need to discover which method works best for you. The way to do that is to see how your mind best concentrates on the task at hand, whether it be for you to focus on remembering a different eye colour of both a person's eyes, or just one. One technique that furthers the process for everybody is to make sure to have a specific other person in mind. Say you know somebody with auburn eyebrows–if you envision their eyebrows, your mind is automatically filled with the image and it becomes that much easier for you to morph that shade through to your own eyebrows."

The Madam sat up a bit straighter and continued, "For example–" she closed her eyes tight shut and a second later her eyebrows switched to deep red– "I think of my Aunt Fiona whenever I change my hair to this colour," she explained. "You're not required to do that, but it certainly helps. And of course, as with any Transfiguration event, absolute concentration is essential."

Nodding, Harry found himself wondering who on earth it was Tonks thought of those times she changed her hair to hot pink or raving fuschia.

"Now, you give it a go. Choose a person you know, think of their features in vivid detail, let the picture fill your mind, and sort of visualise it happening on your own face. Keep secret what colour you're going to try and switch your eyes or brows. Just make it significantly different than your own so I may guess what shade you're trying to manage." Then Adonna did a hard blink, returning her own eyebrows back to normal.

Harry had a rough go in the beginning, as nothing at all happened in the way of colour-changing with either his eyes or brows. Madam Adonna repeatedly told him almost nobody got it right the first few tries, let alone in the first twenty minutes. What Harry did manage to do, however, was cause his eyebrows to grow outward into fabulous curly-twirly brambles that not only obscured his vision, but even wound up pushing his glasses off his face.

The Healer Adonna maintained all sense of decorum as she stood up and quickly assisted the young man in getting his eyebrows back to usual with her wand.

"Don't be discouraged," she said bracingly, "you just seem to have an overdeveloped knack for making your hair grow when you're frustrated. It's sort of where your 'magical sense' focusses itself when you subconsciously throw in the towel, or think all other avenues have been exhausted. That's what I believed happened the night of the crash," she elabourated. "I think you've done well enough for now. You just may be suffering from a bit of performance anxiety since I'm here to stare at you in your practise."

She conjured him a small rectangular mirror with its own leather sheath and said, "Looking in a mirror can be infinitely more helpful, but monopolising the loo to do so can be annoying at best, embarrassing at worst." She handed the object to Harry saying, "So here you are."

"Thank you," he replied sheepishly, accepting the item, seriously doubting just how much a mirror could really help his as-yet disastrous attempts at self-modified transfiguring.

Not long after, Tonks showed up at the front door again, looking much less angry yet still no more willing to hold a conversation with Harry or Hermione, the latter of whom also came to greet the young Auror. Madam Adonna pinched the bridge of her nose as she followed her cousin down the steps across the front walk.

"Will you be meeting me tomorrow morning for court?" she asked Tonks. "I'd be very grateful if you'd accompany me to my 8:30 meeting at the Ministry building. You don't have to come in the room or anything–I just need a companion."

After that, Hermione closed the door.

**(0) (0) (0)**

Harry was adamant about going to the Ministry the next morning as a show of support for Madam Adonna. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shortly tried to dissuade him at first, pointing out that general public was not allowed into Medical Tribunals. But once they saw how determined the young man was, they wisely decided their efforts were wasted.

And so he and Mr. Weasley accompanied each other to the Ministry building. Harry had ( at Hermione's insistence) packed up his belongings the day before, and everything that needed to be moved from Privet Drive was being methodically transferred over to the Burrow that day.

On the way to Ministry, Mr. Weasley summarised the proceedings of Madam Adonna's trial. It was to be conducted by five Medical Magistrates, each experts in the field of magical medicine as Madam Adonna. Each offence in the Healer's case poured over in a special Review Board comprised of the five Magistrates. One of the Magistrates was designated the Principal Mouthpiece for all five of the others, and would therefore do the majority of the speaking with the accused.

Reaching down to the pocket on his dress trousers, Harry fingered one of the Extendable Ears he'd received from Fred and George. _We'll just see who can listen and who can't, _the young wizard thought to himself appraisingly. These little gadgets would more than likely allow Harry to hear everything that went on in the trial room.

Mr. Weasley had to be at the Ministry by 8 a.m. so Harry was early for Adonna's trial. The wizard guided Harry to a section of rooms on the same floor as the main courtroom Harry had attended last year. The young man was quite glad he could avoid that side of the hallway altogether as Mr. Weasley pulled him across the main hall to a small corridor on the other side.

"Will you be okay here, then?" Mr. Weasley asked Harry. "I need to go now, but you can come find me in my office once you're finished here. Tell Madam Adonna good luck, right? Cheers."

Then he walked away, leaving Harry in the narrow corridor, which contained eight doors, four on either side.

The Healer came not long after and looked quite surprised to see Harry there.

"A pleasure seeing you again so soon, Mr. Potter," she greeted upon seeing him. "Any reason in particular you're here today? You don't have a trial too, do you?" asked Adonna, her voice gaining a note of concern.

"No," Harry replied.. "I overheard you mention to Tonks that you were going o be here this morning for your own trial and sort of, erm, wanted to...be here as a show of support for you."

The Healer's face softened as she said humbly, "Why, how kind of you, Mr. Potter. Your being here comes as quite a surprise, yet I must admit I can't help but think there's no other person who's regard I'd rather have more at the moment." Then she smiled and concluded graciously, "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," smiled Harry, "and best of luck to you."

As Madam Adonna opened the door and walked through, Harry glimpsed the Magistrate Bench with five people at the far end of the room. They sat in high straight-backed chairs and looked austerely toward the healer.

"You may be seated," said the Principal Mouthpiece, gesturing to a solitary chair in the centre of the room. At least it didn't have chains on it as the one in the main courtroom did. Then the door closed, separating Harry and the Madam.

Harry quickly retrieved the Extendable Ear from his pocket and slipped it under the door. He was rather glad the little hallway was so far removed from the main activity on the ground floor, as he could hear people bustling about the later it got that morning. A few individuals looked questioningly at him, but Harry just refused to meet their eyes and behaved as if he belonged right where he was. _Which_, Harry concluded to himself, _is perfectly true. I have every right to be here._ Technically the only thing he didn't have a right to do was eavesdrop on the trial. He had been concerned that he might get bored just standing and listening, but there was much to listen to.

Much of the trial hearing consisted of the fives Magistrates taking turns grilling Adonna on why she did what she did, what she had been thinking at the time, if indeed the Secrecy mandate had been broken when magic had been performed in front of the Muggles on the Knight Bus and other such things. Most of the charges against Madam Adonna hardly even seemed to apply to her, and several times Harry was indignant with the treatment she was being given. It was as if they regarded her as a malicious criminal rather than a professional just having tried to do her job. However, what got to Harry the most was when the Principal Mouthpiece said disdainfully, "You have shown such blatant mishandling and disregard for the sanctity of the magical and medical communities that it is my belief you should be stripped of your title, barred from the field of medicine entirely, and have your wand snapped."

Finally, Harry could take no more of the healer's being castigated by her peers. After quickly gathering his listening device and jamming it back in his pocket, he barged straight into the room, much to the astonishment of its other occupants.

"No! You can't bar her from practising! It's not fair, it's not right!"

The Magistrates all gaped at him for a few seconds before the Principal Mouthpiece regained his composure first and said, "Mr. Potter. Greetings, and to what do we owe the pleasure of your appearance?" His words were inviting, but his tone of voice was patronising and irritated Harry even more.

"I'm here in the name of Madam Adonna's personal justice, which all five of you seem to have been in the process of grossly mishandling," he replied coldly, coming to stand next to the healer. She had stood up out of her chair and turned around when Harry had charged through the doorway.

"Now see here, boy–" began the Magistrate on the far left of the bench.

"_Don't_ call me 'boy'," Harry clipped him off, "all that I've been overhearing is nothing but a mockery of a trial. Not once have you allowed this woman to fully defend her position. When she begins to explain herself, you cut her off. Nor have you taken into consideration _any_ of the good her actions have brought about. I, myself, standing here is the most glaring example of all!"

Harry pointed to himself as his voice rose.

"I can appreciate your position, Mr. Potter," the Principal Mouthpiece began less patiently, "but you cannot possibly understand the subtleties of what it is to be a medical professional, or the law thereof. You are only a teenager."

Madam Adonna sent Harry a look that was grateful, concerned, and exasperated all at once. She briefly touched his arm as a signal that he should go, but instead of taking the hint he turned and gave a lopsided grin just for her before turning back to the Bench. The feeling of deja vu returned full force, yet Harry used it as strength and proof that he was doing the right thing.

"If you truly understood my position, you would know that just because I am young doesn't mean I'm incapable of grasping things. You are right about one thing, however–I can't know what it's like to go about everyday, helping and curing people in the ways that you all are dedicated and trained to do. And so Madam Adonna did with me. She came across an impossible situation and made the best of it. Yes, Muggles saw the Knight Bus...but that had nothing to do with her. I Summoned it with my wand. Yes, she did magic in front of them but they didn't see it or recognise it as such. She handled the situation with such professionalism that not one Muggle had to have the Ministry modify their memory. When was the last time the Ministry itself managed to carry out and operation or concentrated action without memory modification?" Harry paused to let his question sink in, expecting some more interruptions from the Magistrates, but none came. The healer was looking at him in sheer astonishment.

"Madam Adonna hadn't known the extent of my injuries since I shouldn't have been walking and talking with the ones I'd had. Again, how was she to know? She couldn't do a proper assessment, nor did she have the equipment she needed for such a situation. So she faced a true dilemma: to let me die due to injuries received, or to take a gamble by performing the Gemini Stasis Charm. As I've said, I don't understand what it means to save lives everyday. But I do know what it means when a split-second decision made on my part means the difference between positive or negative; when everything hinges on a life or death decision. I lost my own godfather because of something like that," tears sprang to the surface as Harry explained this to the now-silent Magistrates, but he bit back on the sudden wave of grief and continued.

"Yes, Madam Adonna broke the law–that is not in dispute. What should be in dispute is the law itself. Does it even apply to this situation presented? I say not in this case. The healer had a hidden skill, one that allowed her to save me–I stand here before you now because she upheld her oath as a medical professional, to do all she could to prevent harm. Therefore, had she followed the current law, I would unquestionably be dead. You can't reward that by revoking her license. It wouldn't be right, and you all know it. Put yourself in her place for once; now put yourself in mine. Wouldn't the greater crime, by far, have been doing nothing?"

The Magistrates all began glancing at one another, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

"I apologise for barging in like this," Harry went on, "but surely you can see why I had to. Just think about what I've said. Thank you." He turned around to walk out the way he came when Madam Adonna reached out a hand, touched his shoulder, and she gazed into his eyes while saying, "Thank you so much, Mr. Potter. That was most amazing."

"Anytime," smiled Harry as he returned the gesture and walked out the door.


	10. Wands and Witchly Wiles

Dear Wonderful Readers,

See? I told you not to give up on me. ;) Here is another update (3rd Sept.) nearly 3 months sooner than what has become the typical 6-7 month hiatus. Holy Harry, a lot has happened since 18th May 07. The Order of the Phoenix movie was released (and what a film it was!) along with the 7th instalment of our favey book series. All in all, a summer I doubt we'll forget for a rather long time.

DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILER ALERT! Though it's been about a month and half since Deathly Hallows was, at last, given to the world, I still struggle to comprehend all that happened within its pages. Even though it's become my new favey novel, and BLIMEY did I get a lot of predictions right!!!, nothing will shake my feeling that it was rather a blood bath when looking at the amount of deaths that occurred. Don't get me wrong—I'm inexpressively grateful that Harry came back, just as I thought he would.

Maybe I wouldn't feel such loss if so many of my most cherished characters hadn't been killed (Fred, Lupin, Tonks), but I felt it was quite deceptive of Jo to let people think only 2 main characters would die. Not by the furthest stretches of the imagination was that anywhere close to the truth.

Quite honestly, no book—except for perhaps writing my own—has ever wrenched such strong and genuine emotions from me. So much of my own life has become wrapped up in the Potter series that it's no longer just pretend—I love the story and characters as if they were real and tangible.

Now! The following chapter's contents (at least most of them) have been planned for such a ridiculously long time that it took me less than half a day to actually type the thing up (and there's a whopping 4300 words in it, not including the A/N!). Some of you early-early fans may recognise this from its first and primitive title, The Dating Game. I yanked that fic from the server over 2 years ago now, in anticipation for upcoming chapters in HGC.

Let us rejoice in its completion, cos it's about bleedin' time I posted the thing! Longest A/N ever?? Whew!

Please, please enjoy, Rae

P.S. I never beg for reviews, but I've truly had a helluva time with my life and creative muse, so I humbly ask you to leave me some words of encouragement. They help me more than I can ever express. Thanks again.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

It wasn't just failing to visit Fred and George's joke shop that irked Harry about his last trip to Diagon Alley. Nor was it his encounter with the incisive Mr. Finkle. Harry simply wanted his old wand in working order again. The plan was to bring his broken holly wand back to Mr. Ollivander to repair, but even before Harry and his friends left for their trip, the Daily Prophet had reported the old wandmaker had gone missing.

For the time being, Harry attempted travelling with one of the dozen or so wands that various wizardfolk had sent him when he was recovering in the hospital. Generous though the gift-givers were, their choice of wands still didn't suit the young wizard at all. Of course, Harry couldn't truly use them yet since he wasn't currently at school. That didn't stop him from trying some standard spell flourishes with them, however. None of the wands sent to him responded anything close to how his phoenix feather one did. Some of the wands were definitely more "friendly" to Harry's style of magic. Someone had sent him one of cherry wood with hippogriff feather core—a rather temperamental wand indeed, as it appeared to demand constant polishing and being handled with utmost respect.

It reminded Harry vividly of how he'd tried out virtually all of the wands in Ollivander's shop—each attempt more disastrous than the last. Harry's eclectic sunglasses thankfully allowed him to detect if any destructive things would happen before they happened. Briefly handling new, untested wands could evidently be quite tricky.

Even this activity grew tedious, unfortunately. The biggest reason why was due to the heat. Harry stared listlessly up at the ceiling in Ron's bedroom, absentmindedly making swish-and-flick motions with the least aggressive of his new wands. Crab-apple wood and niffler claw core made for a pairing that seemed to be abnormally attracted to heaps of earth and dirty laundry.

Ron was throwing a Blasting Ball at the ceiling. It was one of the inventions Fred and George had gifted Harry with, and Harry had no issues whatsoever with giving Ron his extra toys. A Blasting Ball was unique in the fact that each time it hit something, it would make a spectacular noise and display by exploding, then unexplode, only to return completely intact back to the person who threw it.

However, after about the five hundredth time of thump-BOOM, Hermione irritatedly threw down the book she was reading, snatched the ball out of the air, and took off down the stairs, muttering angrily to herself.

Propping his elbows on his cot, Harry watched her disappear, then shot a look at Ron, who was looking down at him from the bed. Ginny lifted her eyes from the knitting she wasn't getting done and glanced at them both. Then they all shrugged and continued on what each had been doing, which was, precisely, nothing.

It had been wonderful to go back to the Burrow. The Weasleys had gone out of their way to welcome he and Hermione back. The surroundings were infinitely more homey and welcoming than anything the Dursleys had ever, albeit grudgingly, provided him.

Though it was a wizard house, one could still get bored stupid. It was so stiflingly hot, it felt to Harry as if he were slowly melting into a puddle by midday. This summer was turning out to be more unbearable than last, at least heat-wise. His skin was sweating almost constantly, making his clothes stick to his body. Harry had given up the now-useless activity of pushing his glasses further back on his nose, as his face was so slick the frames would slide straight back down again.

Looking much less disgruntled, Hermione returned to the bedroom, Ron's toy in hand.

"Sorry, but that was much too annoying," she explained, "so I went and had Mrs. Weasley put a Silencing Charm on it. Try it now," she said, walking forward, tossing it back to Ron, and resituating herself in a corner by the door.

Aiming for the same general spot as before, Ron threw the ball and it hit the ceiling; they all watched it blow itself into oblivion, reintegrate, and fall back in his hand, all without making a sound.

"Much better," Hermione proclaimed with satisfaction. "Your mum wants to refit some robes on you, Ron. She said to send you downstairs." She cast an oddly furtive look in Ginny's direction, which Ginny returned.

Sighing, Ron heaved himself off the bed and strode out the door, mopping his face on his arm.

"Finally," Ginny said loudly, "we get you two apart."

"What?" Harry said, sitting up and leaning up against the wall under the window.

Hermione stood up again, shut the door, sat back down, suddenly becoming intently interested with tracing patterns on the carpet.

"Well," Ginny continued, "we figure since we're all sick of my arguing with Ron over my love life, it was time to formulate a plan of action," she said matter-of-factly.

This was interesting. Along with the heat, the singularly most unpleasant thing about being around the Weasleys had been the shouting matches between Ron and his sole sister. Ever since Ron discovered Ginny had been going out with various boys at Hogwarts instead of Harry, Ron had taken every opportunity to remind her how young she was, and pointed out endless faults in the guys she had chosen to date.

At first the exchanges had been hardly more than typical bickering, but by the time they returned to the Burrow, the rows had escalated to such a decibel level the rafters were doomed to shake apart with noise. The biggest reason for this was that whenever anybody started raising their voices, all the animals in the house would start yowling and screeching in protest, and the ghoul in the attic would join in the ruckus by banging on the walls and pipes. In a fit of desperation, Mrs. Weasley threatened to sell the whole lot of them as oddities to some shopkeeper in Knockturn Alley if they couldn't keep quiet.

"Sounds brilliant," Harry said, "how can I help?"

"Funny you should ask that," Ginny said brightly, glancing meaningfully again at Hermione, who continued tracing carpet. "We thought the best way to end the fights was to trick Ron into thinking you and I were, erm...going out, Harry."

"Hmmm," was all he said.

Harry contemplated this. It wouldn't be very easy—for him, anyway. Everybody already knew that Ginny had been keeping in contact with Michael Corner since before the end of last term, and that Harry hadn't bothered with Cho since she started going out with somebody else. Unless Ginny and Hermione were thinking of another girl, such as one of the Patil twins...

"Well, Ron obviously knows you still fancy Michael, given all of your arguments," Harry said, "but who do you plan on telling him I'm going out with? And how would me going out with a girl help him quit yelling at you anyway?" he asked.

Ginny made a sound of impatience and narrowed her eyes.

"You can't really be that dense, can you?" she said, quite mystified. Continuing much more patiently, "I was talking about us, Harry—you and me—dating."

"What? You mean, each other?" he said stupidly.

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Ginny shook her head and grinned as she stood up and started pacing the little patch of floor beside the bed.

"Astonishing as it may sound, yes," she replied sardonically. "Remember how on the train back home how I let slip to Ron I was going out with other boys, but Ron said he thought I fancied you? And he seemed okay with it?" Ginny asked eagerly.

Harry had little idea where the girl's query was leading and his left eyebrow rose of its own accord as he mulled over it.

Taking Harry's silence as affirmation, Ginny ploughed on, still throwing occasional looks at Hermione, who was now picking at the carpet piling. Ginny's lips thinned briefly at the other girl before speaking again.

"We thought if Ron were led to believe there was something between us," she held out both hands, "it would end the ongoing row between he and I. Simple solution: Pretend to date the only boy Ron approves of, and we'll all be free of the annoyance," she said happily, facing Harry again.

The left side of his mouth had unconsciously followed the eyebrow while he watched Ginny give her explanation. Though he'd never say it to her, Harry didn't mind a bit about "pretending" to go out with Ginny—at first. Unfortunately, his chief concern quickly overrode this fantasy scenario. Would her plan jeopardise Harry's friendship with Ron?

Contrary to Ginny's claim, Harry didn't see anything simple about this scheme. The only other time he could recall coming up against a plan so fraught with dangerous possibilities was when he, Ron, and Hermione had pulled off their Polyjuice Potion stunt back in 2nd year. Then something occurred to him. Hermione and Ginny had to be putting him on. That would certainly explain Hermione's odd behaviour at the moment.

Harry snorted, smiling and nodding appreciatively.

"Good one," he confessed, "really had me going for a bit. Now I've got one for you. Why don't we have Hermione nip on over to Malfoys and ask Draco out?" he asked, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back against the wall. "That way, it might stop she and Ron from having a go at each other all the time too," he finished sarcastically.

That finally got a reaction out of Hermione; she arose while making a sound of indignation and winged one of her heavier books in Harry's direction. He closed his eyes, ducked, and threw his arms out in front of himself protectively. No doubt due to reflexes born of his Quidditch training, Harry managed to catch the book about half an inch from his face. Setting it back on the floor, he looked back up at Hermione.

"Tut, tut," Harry admonished, waggling a finger at her, "there's no need to get so shirty with me—only joking, you know," he grinned.

Hermione shook her head and smiled widely in spite of herself. Ginny looked over at her and shook her own head, an entirely different expression on her face.

"I never would've believed it possible," Ginny said, half-amused, "but you were apparently right."

Sure he missed something, Harry looked back to Hermione and asked, "Right about what?"

"What she's trying to say, Sir Harry James Potter, Boy Wonder and D.A. Extraordinaire," Hermione began without rancour, "is that while you are indeed sensitive and gifted in many ways, you still remain shockingly uninformed about women."

Harry's cheeks flushed slightly and he looked away. But as Hermione obviously didn't intend the observation in a mean-spirited way, he determined to keep the conversation carried on the light-hearted tone it started with.

"Yeah, well, thank you _so_ much for pointing that out," he said, not entirely feigning annoyance and playing along, "but that's not exactly a secret, is it? I mean, I could've told you that anytime—all you had to do was ask. Besides, it's not like I haven't tried to remedy that situation," Harry defended. "I just had the misfortune of being attracted to the only girl who stayed an emotional basketcase the whole year," he pointed out.

"She wasn't a basketcase," Hermione corrected, "but you were unfortunately around to be in a rebound relationship with her," she said knowingly, as if Harry were supposed to know what it meant.

"A _what?_" he said dubiously.

"You know, a rebound relationship," Hermione repeated with an air of impatience. "One in which a person is tragically or suddenly separated from their partner for whatever reason, and becomes too quickly involved with another. The biggest reason why they do this," she continued, oblivious to Harry's growing incomprehension, "is they either want to make their ex-partner jealous, or they're trying too quickly to fill the gap in their lives that the other person left. They don't allow their emotions to heal properly first."

Harry gawked at her, thunderstruck. This "rebound" stuff didn't sound good...not good at all. It made it seem as if Cho's kissing him had meant nothing to her. Like she had been...using him as a substitute for Cedric Diggory. Realising Hermione had stumbled upon a distasteful and rather painful topic, Harry tried to salvage the conversation the only way he knew how. Have an abrupt change of subject.

"So," he said and cleared his throat, "what's all this got to do with the plan for stopping your row with Ron, anyway?" he asked Ginny.

"Isn't it obvious?" she said unhelpfully.

Harry groaned in exasperation and began drumming his fingers across his knees. He didn't know whether it was extreme heat, residual injury, mental stress, or some combination thereof, but he wasn't much in the mood for dealing with girlish games at the moment. And he wasn't shy about letting Hermione and Ginny know how he felt.

"Suppose for once," he began tightly, "that your train of thought isn't easy to track," now he gestured at Ginny, "and suppose for once that the addle-brained male," he pointed at his head and whirled his finger in circles, "needs to have all the details explained to him—in order," he finished firmly, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes.

Ginny and Hermione promptly burst into gales of laughter and collapsed on the floor because of the goofy look on his face. Before long, Harry found himself joining in and they all rolled around on the floor together until they were totally breathless, tears streaming from their eyes, and holding stitches in their sides. Due to the heat, this took a surprisingly short time.

"Okay, okay," Ginny gasped, "fair enough. Sorry we were a bit short with you," she said politely as they all picked themselves up off the floor and sat cross-legged, facing each other.

Harry inclined his head to show he accepted her apology.

"The reason why your, er, lack of knowledge about women is important," Ginny began more delicately, "is it will work to our advantage. That's because Ron's loads more gormless about girls than you are Harry, so it should make our plan that much easier to carry out."

_Well, that explains that,_ thought Harry. He felt an urge to stick up for Ron, even if what Ginny said was painfully true about he and girls.

"That still doesn't explain how we're going to pull this 'going out' thing off. Besides, I don't think even Ron could be _that_ thick," Harry said loyally.

"Excuse me, but that's where you're dead wrong," Ginny scoffed, a nasty smile spreading across her features. "We're talking about a person who's singular romantic experience was being de-trousered by his intended girl in front of the entire audience at the community children's Christmas performance," she said revealingly.

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth and she stifled a giggle; Harry felt his jaw drop. His first inclination was to press Ginny for details. This was something Ron hadn't even hinted at during their entire friendship. Then again, Harry's personal experiences with girls had been hardly stellar, so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Speaking of Ron, shouldn't he be back by now?" Harry said, looking over at the door.

He also noticed Hermione had become mostly silent again and was playing with the hem of her shirt.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about him," Ginny said as she waved a hand dismissively, "Mum's keeping Ron busy—she's covering for us."

Suddenly suspicious, Harry blurted, "Covering for us? Is there anybody who wasn't involved in planning my role in Ron's deception _before_ I knew about it?" he demanded, a new edge to his voice.

"Ron wasn't," Ginny said sweetly with a simpery smile on her face, batting her eyelids rapidly. Harry's anger dissolved instantly and he sniggered at her silliness. "Anyway," she continued, "Mum doesn't know about this. She thinks we're up here talking to you about...something else..." her voice trailed off as she and Hermione darted another glance at one another.

"Oh no, you two," Harry said, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose, "if you're going to insist on my involvement in this, I insist you tell me everything. So out with it!" he ordered. "Please."

"We may as well," Ginny signed, resigned. "Do you remember Fleur Delacour?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded at her, "not that easy to forget, is she? Are she and Bill still dating?"

Ginny fixed a smirk on her faced and nodded vigourously. "Yes, they are definitely that," she said. "In fact, they like dating each other so much that Bill asked Fleur to marry him and--" she leaned forward pointedly, "--she said yes."

Harry's eyes widened as he turned over this latest bit of information. This was certainly a complicated development. While he was glad that Bill and Fleur would be happy together and deserved congratulations, undoubtedly someone at the Burrow would not feel the same way. Although he questioned the wisdom of the Weasleys withholding news of the engagement from Ron, he could hardly blame them for doing it. Once he found out, Ron's reaction was going to be anything but pretty. A range of emotions flitted across Harry's face as he went through this thought process, finally settling on a pained expression.

"I know," Ginny said sympathetically, watching him, wearing a similar look on her own features. "If you think it's going to be hard for us, just imagine what Mum and Dad have been going through trying to keep this from Ron. It's bad enough trying to help the happy couple plan the details of their joyous event from overseas. Random people calling out 'congratulations' whenever we go out, sending letters by owl post—Mum's been driven about spare," she said glumly. Hermione was now mirroring the other's strained expressions.

"What makes it so terrible," Ginny went on, "is this shouldn't have to be kept quiet. Engagements are happy occasions and the news should be shouted from the rooftops as far as I'm concerned." Then she dropped the bombshell. "But the worse part is they need to keep this charade up for a year, because Bill and Fleur aren't getting married until next summer," she said, as Hermione and Harry moaned in dismay.

"I wish my parents would just let me tell Ron now so he could get used to the idea, but Bill insists the best way is not to tell him at least till the end of first term," she said miserably. "Instead, we get to do the next best thing," she continued, instantly shaking off the gloom.

"And that is?" Harry blinked up at Ginny in a daze, dizzy with her manic changes of attitude.

"Distract Ron from Mum, Dad, Bill, and Fleur with our brilliantly planned scheme!" she finished, as if this were the most obvious answer in the world.

"But...but I thought that was to prevent Ron from yelling you about your love life," Harry responded, mind awhirl with confusion.

"Yes, yes," Hermione agreed quickly, "but it's designed to both distract him and stop the shouting between he and Ginny," she said pedantically, as if she were explaining this to a lack-witted chimpanzee with a hearing problem.

Now Harry was totally jumbled up over the matter. Never dreaming it possible, he had just witnessed each and every one of their disjointed topics of conversation be tied into one circuitous loop. Everything from Bill and Fleur, to Ron and Ginny, to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been amassed by Hermione into one horrific jumble. Attracted as Harry was to Ginny, no other description remained for such a chain of events. This was simply insane.

"Ginny kept using the words 'we', 'us', and 'our' when describing this crazy plot," he said, now turning toward Hermione's less-than-forthcoming form. "But surely you didn't have anything to do with the planning?" he questioned, desperately needing someone to agree with his assessment of the situation. "I mean, you've been awfully quiet," Harry added hopefully.

Ginny made a loud sound of protest as Hermione looked off to the side.

Hermione bit her lip and mumbled, "Actually, it was my idea."

"_All_ of it?" Harry asked, aghast, his vision of support fluttering away as a hippogriff into the sunset.

"Yes, all of it," she answered defensively.

Harry shook his head at them. "No offence," he whispered, "but you're both mad! It'll never work."

But Hermione's confession seemed to have loosened her tongue at last. "Oh, quit being so negative," she snapped. "We're not mad, and it's a perfectly good plan if you'd just give it a chance. After all, it's what Bill wants. And apparently, what he says goes."

"It's not like we've got a better alternative anyway, "Ginny reminded them cynically.

Harry opened his mouth to disagree but thought twice after glimpsing the insane gleam in their eyes. Obviously the girls had made up their minds about getting him in on this and there was no backing out of it.

_"Fine,"_ he said, gritting his teeth and hating himself, "what do we do?"

"Well," began Ginny, "we figured telling Ron that I'd had enough with Michael, something about not wanting to carry on a long-distance relationship. Maybe add in that I discovered Mike was a cheeky sort anyway—that type of stuff—Ron'll eat it up. We shouldn't really need to go into much more detail than that. Just that you and I sort of...noticed each other..." she trailed off lamely.

"Besides," Hermione picked up, " all you need is practise. I'll pretend I'm Ron," she said helpfully, positioning herself in front of Harry. "So," she said in a deeper tone to badly mimic Ron's voice, "have you, er...snogged Ginny yet?"

Harry made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Ron would never ask that!" he protested loudly. "Ginny's his sister, that's sick!"

Ginny commenced sniggering uncontrollably.

"Okay, okay," Hermione answered quickly, "we'll try it again." Clearing her throat, she said in her fake Ron voice, "So, how come you never wanted to date Ginny before?"

"Erm—" Harry began, his throat suddenly dry, "because she was younger...before..." Hermione nodded encouragingly, "...and sort of—titchy," he added, studiously not looking in Ginny's direction. Now it was her turn to become strangely silent.

"A bit better," Hermione said, "but let's have another go." Adopting her false Ron-tone once more she said, "So how d'you like her compared to Cho?"

"Well...I dunno..." Harry said unsteadily, "Ginny's better...I s'pose...because...she's easier to talk to." _Except for right now_, he thought ironically. "And," he added on blessed inspiration, "she never had sneak friends who ratted us all out like Marietta Edgecombe."

"Oooh, that's good!" Hermione exclaimed happily, clapping her hands.

Taking a deep breath, Harry calmed himself; he never realised how shallowly he had been breathing. After Hermione's latest reaction, he felt marginally better about this whole idiotic thing. He hazarded a look at Ginny and instantly regretted it.

"Sort of titchy, am I?" she said coldly, standing up and boring her eyes into his. _So that's it, _thought Harry. He held out his hands pleadingly. "No, of—of course not! It—it was just an expression," he stammered an explanation, "j-just a word I chose to fill in the blank—"

"Yeah," Hermione said supportively, "after all, we made him do this—he didn't want to. And anyway," she added in a more hopeful tone, "weren't we all titchy when we were younger? It's just something you do when you're small..."

Ginny's lips trembled.

_Merlin's shorts, no!_ Harry gasped in horror, _please don't let her cry, please don't—_

Instead of tears of sadness, however, Ginny doubled over with an outburst of raucous laughter. "You—you should see the looks on your faces!" she shrieked as Hermione and Harry glanced darkly at each other.

Hermione pursed her lips at him, he raised his eyebrows at her, both concluding there was only one action left to take with Ginny. After all, his honour had been at stake—now was no time to be the gentleman. Being only children, Harry and Hermione never knew an older sibling's ultimate retaliation against a younger one until they had stayed with the Weasleys; the worst punishment was tickle torture. And Ginny was extremely ticklish.

Ginny fell backward to the bed, laughing so hard she could no longer stand. Harry crawled to the side of the bed nearest him and pinned her arms to the mattress. Simultaneously, Hermione rushed to Ginny opposite him and began tickling her all over. Ginny kicked and wriggled, nearly getting free twice, but she was too busy laughing to really put in much effort. Currently, Harry and Hermione weren't faring much better, as they were again succumbing to massive giggle fits.

"You three sure are a noisy lot," called a deep voice from the hallway.

They all froze and caught each other's eye. Ron strode into the room with a bemused smile on his face. _Oi_,_ we certainly look like we've been doing something dodgy,_ Harry noticed, as they all faced Ron with wide-eyed guilty looks. _Which_, _until the tickle fight, we had,_ he realised ruefully upon reflection.

The three quickly stood up, trying and failing to assume an air of easy nonchalance. Apparently, so caught up in their fun, they hadn't even noticed Ron stumping up the stairs, let alone having opened the door. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. _Someone say something, _Harry thought desperately, _or this is going to get really embarrassing..._

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

Okay, I tried asking nicely. But this is royally starting to piss me off. It should be no secret that I am an above average writer, and I never submit stuff that isn't enjoyable to read. I've got 700 hits on this story in the last 20 hours (since I submitted an update) yet only ONE of you has left me a review. Obviously people are enjoying my work. I write for free, so I'm going to stop short of demanding reviews. While technically, I do write for myself, it's just downright disgusting that the only person who's said anything is my best mate. I don't care if what you have to say is good or bad--the only way good stories move up the ranks is by number of reviews. So put yourself in a fic author's place and have some common decency, for the love of Potter. Leave reviews for the stories you read. It's only fair._  
_


	11. The Deplorable Dinner

Dear Readers,

I realise the characters in last chapter and this one are a bit OOC, just a little. The reason why is because, well, I don't think Harry got to have enough fun, be enough of a kid in the original books (hell, having the weight of the world on your shoulders will do that to a person) so I'm writing a bit more silliness in for him so he can enjoy life a bit more. It tears me up (even though I've been guilty of it myself) to see him suffer nothing but angst, angst, angst—so here's a little bit of tasteful fluff among friends. What's the use in being a teenager if you can't flirt and laugh yourself stupid once in awhile? No use at all, I say. As canon example, I point to book 6, when nearly all the characters went whacko and did things completely out of the ordinary.

Thank you Chan, mya, Macceh, and jessie for your reviews, they meant the world to me. I don't usually plug other stories in my fics but for those of you who like excellent and realistic writing, check out wicked.witchy.princess and her story Underneath this Smile. It's heavy and intense, but stick with it. You'll be glad you did.

Enjoy your 2nd update in less than a week!

Rae :)

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

Hermione to the rescue.

"What're you doing back up here?" she demanded.

Ginny and Harry clapped their hands to their foreheads, exasperated. What a stupid way to continue the conversation. If Ron didn't suspect something was up now, it would be a miracle.

"All done with your robes then?" Hermione added hastily.

If Ron did notice something, he chose not to say anything about it. "Yes," he answered tiredly, "but afterward Mum made me stay and do loads of chores. Just busy-work mostly," Ron complained, clearly disgusted.

They all started to relax as Ron raved about Mrs. Weasley, thanking Merlin for his lack of observational skill and gift of gab.

"'Yes, Mum,'" he said pedantically, "I tell her, 'as a matter of fact the dishes _can_ wash themselves, and the bin _can_ take itself out, but you never let me use a wand'. So then she says, 'well, that's because we don't want you to get expelled from school—'"

"And she's absolutely right," Hermione cut him off imperiously, "because if you got chucked out of Hogwarts, then where would you be?"

Ron rounded on her, "Oh, don't you start, I've had enough lecturing while being with Mum, and I swear I won't be responsible for what happens to you if you keep going—"

"You know, small wonder she kept telling you off," Hermione talked over the top of him as if he hadn't even spoken, "you should be ashamed of yourself. After all, you are a school Prefect. What kind of example would you set for the other students if the Ministry chucked you out on your ear for violating the Underage Decree—"

"Would you just lay off?" Ron pleaded angrily. "I was only joking anyway, I don't really want to be expelled if you haven't noticed."

"No, I haven't noticed," replied Hermione stubbornly, her voice cold. "Breaking rules left and right, at school and at home, it almost makes me regret being your fellow sixth-year Prefect—"

"Great, fine with me! I'll just leave if you're so ashamed to be in my presence! It's not like Mum wanted me to stay up here anyway, just to check and see what the noise was and that we're going to start making dinner in a few minutes. Probably wants me to come back down so she can do some more lecturing, as if I'm not in a lousy enough mood already!" Ron slammed the door and stalked downstairs.

Harry, Ginny, and Hermione all sagged and gave great sighs of relief after his depature.

"Ruddy brilliant, distracting him like that, Hermione." Ginny said, slightly breathless. "Although I would've left off the bit where you demanded to know why he was back up here," the redhead folded her arms, "in his own bedroom."

"Yes, well, I noticed the two of you weren't exactly itching to jump into the fray," Hermione huffed. "It was just the fastest thing I could think of that would make him leave." Then she said regretfully, "Still I do hate baiting him like that for no good reason. Most of the time he deserves it, but this time all he did was walk in on us, and he wasn't even going to stay."

"Trust me, he'll get over it," said Ginny, "he always does."

"And unfortunately," Harry added, "the confrontations'll probably just get worse from here on out. I suppose we should be grateful this one didn't last longer," he said grimly.

_Poor chap,_ Harry thought, commiserating. If Ron wasn't shouting at Ginny, he was going to be nagged by Mrs. Weasley or bickering with Hermione. Harry did not envy him. True, Ron should keep his big nose out of Ginny's business, but...

"It'll be all right," said Hermione more positively, "it isn't like I'll always have to scream at him every time we're together; this time I just assumed it was sort of an emergency that he leave straightaway since we hadn't finished our discussion about him," she answered, as if having read Harry's mind.

"Given our reaction when he innocently walked in unannounced just now, I'd say the odds of pulling this deception off for six months aren't only against us, they're downright dismal," Harry said doubtfully.

"No no—see, Harry—we only need to do the going out bit until the end of the summer," Ginny corrected.

"Really?" he said, half-hopefully, half-dejected. "Why's that?" For the first time, Harry was seeing a real chance for their plan, yet at the same time, he hoped Ginny still harboured feelings for him. He was annoyed with himself for feeling that way because boy, did it make things more complicated. And he'd thought his relationship with Cho was impossible to figure out.

"Mostly because we don't want Michael, or anyone else, finding out what we've been up to once we get back to school," Ginny emphasized seriously. "Also, why make this harder on ourselves than it needs to be? No," she shook her head, "we'll just tell Ron we had the typical whirlwind summer romance."

The term "whirlwind" was at least self-explanatory, so Harry didn't have to ask what it meant. His feeling of dread dissipated somewhat after discovering he'd only have to pretend to date Ginny for barely a month. And Hermione was definitely clever enough to think of diversionary tactics spontaneously. Harry wasn't all the unpractised at deception either, even if he admitted it to nobody but himself. Now, the unease in the pit of his stomach was largely due to the fact he would deliberately be tricking someone who was supposed to trust him. Still, it was for Ron's own good. On top of everything, there was a little green monster of envy growing inside of Harry. Did Ginny really not secretly want to date him for real? What exactly did Michael Corner and all those other blokes Ginny dated have that Harry didn't? And why, oh why, were the answers to these questions suddenly of such crucial importance?

"Obviously, we're going to need to work out some more details of the plan," Hermione said, shaking Harry from his revere, "but that's okay. We hope the initial shock of 'finding out' will keep Ron busy for quite some time, so we'll build from there." She faced Harry directly. "Besides, anytime you have a question or need advice, you can always ask us, Harry. Not just about this, but about what-have-you," she gestured aimlessly, "and that includes women," Hermione said kindly.

Harry wanted to point out to her that he wouldn't need to worry about advice at the moment if it weren't for she and Ginny but held his tongue in check. Once again, he took her words in the spirit in which they were meant. However...

"Er, thanks," Harry smiled back at her weakly, "but I probably won't be needing it. After Cho, I've pretty much sworn off dating...for now. And I dunno, asking you two for advice about...females...might be a, a bit awkward."

"Why's that?" asked Hermione, her brow wrinkling.

"Because you're, erm, you know...girls..." he trailed off vaguely, refusing to explain himself any further.

Hermione and Ginny shared a look and giggled softly for a bit. Why did they always do that?

"I see," said Hermione, smiling, "so then you don't want to talk to girls...about other girls?"

"Not to mention it might be a tad—weird—to ask for advice about your love life from your best friend's little sister?" Ginny asked pointedly with her penetrating gaze.

Harry's eyes widened in amazement as he flicked glances repeatedly to the carpet and back. He was sure there was more to Ginny's question than she was letting on. He'd never seen her look at him the way she was now, with what seemed like yearning in her gaze. But Harry would rather face Voldemort 100 more times than ask Ginny what she was really thinking. There was too much at risk.

"Yeah, er..." Harry suddenly remembered he was in a conversation, "...something like that," he mumbled uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at their faces.

"Perfectly understandable," said Hermione.

Still looking at Harry the same way, Ginny approached him and said softly, "You may find yourself wanting to talk about something soon enough—talk about things you can't say to Ron. We just wanna say we're here for you." She placed a hand on his arm. It was as if her touch generated waves of heat all through him...yet it seemed so familiar somehow...how could that be...he'd never liked her this way before... His deja vu overtook him briefly, insisting he and Ginny had talked like this, touched this way, but when? It was making him feel as if he should explain everything to her right here and now—

Finally looking up, he met her eyes. "Right...thank you," he said quietly. It was all he could manage to say. At least until he changed the subject again...the atmosphere had gone from light-hearted to oppressive in an instant.

"So...when do you plan on telling Ron about...us?" Harry asked.

"Assuming he'll talk to us after getting yelled out of his own room," Ginny answered, "probably tonight after dinner. Speaking of which, we should get a move on—Mum most likely wants us downstairs right now to help her."

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione assured, "we can pull this off. It's only for the next four weeks or so."

Hoping she would prove to be right, he nodded as they all turned and walked out the door.

**(0) (0) (0)**

Dinner was a rather sordid affair. When the trio arrived in the kitchen, Ron looked away. He stomped around whilst they did preparations, violently opening cupboards and drawers, and generally trying to make his bad mood known as noticeably as possible. And he managed to do this without talking even once. All in all, it was a silent treatment loud enough to wake the dead. Harry, Ginny, and Hermione got successively quieter as it wore on, as if doing so would somehow balance out the uneven noise leve between Ron and the rest of them.

Mr. Weasley walked in when they were finishing transferring everything from the counters, bent over to say, "Hullo, everyone," as he kissed his wife on the nose and walked over to sit at the head of the table.

Mistakenly thinking that Ron's rotten mood was merely because he had to do extra chores, Mrs. Weasley said sternly, "That's no way to behave, Ronald Bilius Weasley. Just because you're angry doesn't mean you should take it out on everybody else by not talking to them. Now act your age, and communicate with your sister and guests."

The three darted quick looks at each other guiltily behind Ron's back. Ron drew in a breath, flexed his fingers once, and turned around with a big soppy smile on his face.

"Right then, Mum," he said in a falsely cheerful voice. "Shall we have dinner now?" he asked, striding passed them to his chair a bit too jauntily.

As the rest of them picked their way over more carefully, Mr. Weasley threw a questioning glance at Mrs. Weasley and tipped his head toward Ron. She closed her eyes and shook her head, mouthing the word "later" as the group took out chairs and sat down.

However rude Ron may have been when fixing dinner, as they ate he seemed to want to make it all up to them. In spades. The only real conversation happening was between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but Ron was constantly punctuating their discussion with overly loud exclamations. He never missed an opportunity to be annoyingly happy to anyone, saying things in a too-hearty tone like, "Do be a good ol' chum and pass the butter, will you Hermione?", "Ginny, my favourite sister, would you please hand me the potatoes?" and "Harry, mate, what do you think of this treacle pudding? Isn't it spiffing?" It was much like having dinner with a game show host.

Harry had actually been quite hungry before he came downstairs, having sweated off most of his energy during the day. Mrs. Weasley was also an excellent cook and he always looked forward to her cuisine. This time, even though everything was delicious as usual, Harry had no taste for it and was playing with his food by the end of dinner. Ron's abysmal behaviour toward them had gotten very old; Harry noticed his wasn't the only appetite that had been driven away. Hermione, Harry, and Ginny hadn't been that bad to him—they certainly didn't deserve this continued treatment. Their guilt had all but worn off by this point. Now the situation had come full circle—Ron was giving them the silent treatment.

Taking Mr. Weasley's cue, they all stood up and began clearing the table. Ron intercepted them.

"Oh _no," _he said in his disingenuous, over-everythinged voice, "I'll take care of this mates—after all, you're guests. You can go with them too, Ginny," he said, bowing exaggeratedly at her.

Looking very much like she wanted to hex Ron, Ginny instead turned to Mrs. Weasley and questioned through clenched teeth, "Mum...?"

"Don't let me stop you," said her mother, "I think Mr. Deplorable needs to stay and clean up," she said pointedly, placing a warning hand on Ron's shoulder. He smiled sickeningly, as if he had swallowed an entire bottle of Skele-Gro.

Mrs. Weasley looked at Hermione and Ginny meaningfully from behind Ron and mouthed the words "Have you...?" Ginny barely nodded, flicking her eyes at Harry and mouthed, "he knows." Harry knew that this was Ginny telling her mother they'd explained to Harry about Bill and Fleur. "Right," said Mrs. Weasley suddenly, "you lot can nip upstairs." Needing no extra prompting, they turned and strode quickly up the staircase.

Ron called out to them, "See you all later!" in a falsely sweet farewell tone, as if they were leaving on a luxury cruise instead of just going upstairs. Harry half-expected him to throw in an equally obnoxious "Bon voyage!" but he didn't. Thankfully.

Once they were far enough up the steps, Hermione grimly said, "He did that on purpose. He's avoiding us."

"Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual," Ginny replied, clearly agitated.

"If I ever act that immature, please tell me so I can 'off' myself immediately," added Harry darkly. "Put me out of my misery."

Hermione snorted. "If we were to do that, you would've had to nix yourself ages ago," she said sarcastically. Harry was saved the task of his scathing retort on account they had reached the door to Ron's bedroom. He also didn't want somebody else mad at him; more than enough fights were going on right now. No sense in picking another one.

When they were through the door, they all flung themselves onto the bed, making it creak in protest. The three were quiet for a long while, each contemplating what they were to say to Ron when he suddenly reappeared. They slowly slid off the bed, facing him.

Then he burst out with, "Just how stupid do you think I am?"


	12. Demented Birthday

Dear Readers,

Yes, I have once again posted on this story. Hopefully this will make at least a few of you happy. If you wonder what I've been up to lately, I've been a wizard rocker [band name Chaos of the Phoenix on my space] and I've been writing on another story with my best mate. It is also posted on my account and entitled "The Prophecy Renewed".

Hope you all enjoy this chapter and it leaves you wanting more. Thank you for staying dedicated. I really appreciate it.

~Rae Carson =]

* * *

Ginny snapped, "Extremely. You've been behaving like a total git toward everybody! Why are you doing that?" Instinctively, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione clumped closer together.

"Because you're up to something," Ron said accusingly. "I can tell."

There was a pause. They needed to find out just how much did Ron knew. Hermione asked a probing question.

"And what, precisely, are you accusing us of?"

"Don't make me say it aloud, I know you already know!"

"But what is it you know that we know that you know? I want to know!"

"Why??"

"Because we really don't know what you know!" Ginny and Harry shouted together.

" Okay, just _stop_!" yelled Hermione, placing herself between Ron and Ginny, holding out a warning palm to each of them. "Seriously, Ron! This is ridiculous! What's got into you?"

Ron glared at her for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped and he looked dejectedly toward the floor.

" It's you two," said Ron, shrugging one shoulder. "It's gets more obvious by the day how much you like each other."

Harry's and Hermione's eyebrows crawled further up their foreheads as he spoke. Then Ron snorted in spite of himself.

" No, not _you two,_" he pointed toward Hermione and Harry, "the other two—Harry and Ginny." Awestruck, Harry and Ginny stood with their mouths agape. How in the world had Ron noticed that? Harry and Ginny hadn't even officially put their scheme into action yet. Perhaps Ron wasn't as unobservant as they thought...

" Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Ron continued, "It's just...well, uh, uh," he stammered, then he ran a hand over his hair and blurted, "it's obvious you and Ginny like each other!" Harry's and Ginny's eyes grew round as saucers. Then Ron laughed outright. "But—but it's okay! I'm okay with it, so stop looking at me like that." He looked at the pair half-expectantly.

Hermione kicked Harry in the back of the foot and he winced, now prompted to awkwardly put his right arm around Ginny. It had to look like the most ludicrous gesture ever made by two people who supposedly had a crush on each other, but Ron appeared completely fine with it. The fact alone helped them realise that Ron didn't know as much about Harry and Ginny's doings as they'd originally feared.

"Sooo..." Harry said, ineptitude once again overtaking the conversation, "that's that then. I like Ginny, you're right." That sounded fine rolling off of Harry's tongue. Even though it was technically a deception, he'd wanted to say it for a very long time.

"And I like Harry," Ginny smiled, easily wrapping her arms around Harry's waist. He smiled like a total goof in spite of himself. He could definitely get used to this! Maybe he could convince Ginny they didn't need to pretend after all...

"Okay, okay, you two," Ron rolled his eyes, "enough with the sap, I don't want to go into sugar shock."

*~*~*~*~*

The next evening as the four teens went up the stairs after dinner, Mr. Weasley stopped Harry.

"Harry, might I speak to you a moment?"

"Certainly, Mr. Weasley," he replied as he came back down the stairs.

"In private," added Mr. Weasley, as he glanced pointedly at his children and Hermione who were lingering on the steps. "We'll be done in a few minutes," he assured them, as they shrugged and finished walking up the steps.

Mr. Weasley led Harry back out to the living room couch and they both sat down. Mrs. Weasley discreetly closed the door to the kitchen, so her husband and Harry might have some privacy. But for what?

As Harry looked at Mr. Weasley, it became apparent he was nervous about something. Quite nervous. All sorts of scenarios started going through Harry's head—something to do with Dumbledore, the Ministry, the Dursleys, or—

"Harry, it has come to my attention that you and my daughter are romantically interested in one another."

—the fact that he and Ginny were supposedly dating one another? No, that was the last thing he thought Arthur Weasley would wish to discuss with him.

"Uh, yessir," Harry answered, not knowing what else to say.

"Since you don't have any parents," continued Mr. Weasley, looking more uncomfortable still, Mrs. Weasley and I have taken it upon ourselves to educate you about, well, the 'birds and the bees', I believe is the preferred Muggle phrase."

Harry stared incredulously at the red-haired man. He had thought of Mr. Weasley as many things, but never as particularly adept at sex education. Still, it stood to reason, considering he had seven children...

"When a man and a woman like each other, they can, experience, uh, certain, uh, feelings they've never felt before. They can be, er, awkward and seem weird, but they can also be pleasurable, nice, and quite addictive."

"Erm, sir," Harry interrupted, "you really don't have to do this if you don't want to." It was highly unusual to be given "the talk" by someone otherwise as private as Arthur Weasley.

"It's quite all right, Harry," Mr. Weasley assured as his voice cracked belying his lack of confidence, "it needs to be done. I suspect Sirius would've been more the happy to educate you on this particular subject, but, well..." he trailed off, more awkward still

And so Harry Potter sat, a dumbstruck and captive audience, as his alleged girlfriend's father taught him all about the birds and the bees.

*~*~*~*

Partly squeamish, part morbidly fascinated, and all in shock, Harry numbly walked up the stairs to his best friend's bedroom.

Ginny went to act her part by going to kiss him and hold his hand, but he waved her off. Some of the things that Mr. Weasley had just told him had left a rather queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, especially where girls were concerned. Even if the aforementioned girl wasn't technically his girlfriend, he was undeniably attracted to her.

"What's your problem?" Ron asked interestedly.

"You look almost peaky," added Hermione.

Harry murmured something unintelligible and Ginny had to ask him to repeat himself.

"I don't doubt that I look ill. Arthur Weasley just gave me a lecture on sex education."

The three of them stared at him non-comprehensively for about three seconds and then groaned in sympathy.

"Not 'the talk'!" exclaimed Ginny, "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. This must be because of the two of us..."

"We should've known they'd do something like this," said Ron, covering his eyes.

Hermione touched his hand in spite of herself, saying, "Oh no!"

He looked at each of the three of them, before replying, "I was certain you were all going to make fun of me for being sick about this stuff."

"Oh, hell no, mate," said Ron, "I had to hear it three times! Once for each Fred and George, because they blackmailed me into hiding elsewhere in the room, and then another time for myself. Our parents thought that separating them would help them take this more seriously. And they were right—in a manner of speaking. They asked Dad to explain certain, ah, processes in minute detail. Bleaugh!" Ron said enthusiastically.

"Yuck!" exclaimed Ginny. "Yeah, I guess I sort of lucked out. Since I'm a girl, Mum explained stuff to me. She was thorough, but delicate in her explanations."

"My parents gave me a book about it," Hermione blushed as she said it. "But it explained things quite nicely in a way that I could understand."

"A _book_?" yelled Ron incredulously. "Your parents never gave you 'the talk'? But they gave you _a book_!?"

"Of course," Hermione defended, "I was only six at the time."

Harry, Ginny, and Ron stared at Hermione and Ron said, "You were _six_ when you asked your parents about _sex_?"

Hermione blushed again, "Not exactly about sex, but I asked them where babies come from, and that is how they told me. Basic instructions and pictures."

"Pictures!" howled Ron. "Your parents gave you a book of pictures of people doing it? What sort of instructions did they have? 'The man takes his pee-pee and puts it in the woman's lap flower'." He burst out laughing at his own joke. "I can just imagine it! Muggle sex manuals for 6-year-olds!"

" It was nothing like that, you immature berk!" shouted Hermione. "They just did what they could for a very curious and intelligent young child. Something _you_ certainly wouldn't know anything about. You're not even mature enough to handle it now, Ronald! Just leave me alone!" Then she stomped out of the room and down the stairs to Ginny's bedroom.

"Way to go, you stupid idiot," said Ginny on her way out the door, "I think you made her cry!"

*~*~*~*~*

Hermione and Ron finally got their latest row all settled out. It ended with Ron profusely begging her to forgive him for being such a prat, per Ginny's instruction. In actuality, it was quite difficult for Harry not to laugh at Ron's mockery of so-called "Muggle Sex Manuals". But seeing how upset it made Hermione more than quelled the merriment

Hermione attempted to nag Harry about the need to study, but he had neither the energy nor the desire to do schoolwork whilst at the Burrow. Harry spent most of his free time trying to practise his Metamorphmagus skills. He had pretty much mastered the art of changing his hair color and was now onto different things such as eye color and skin-tone change. Pigmentation of tissues was definitely more tricky than with hair, but Harry was glad that he seemed to be catching on rather quickly. Making his hair grow and shorten at will was still proving a bit of a problem, though, and he didn't know why. He supposed that his scalp follicles were just more stubborn than the others, and remembered the time when Aunt Petunia shaved off his hair and he magically regrew it by the following morning. At any rate, it certainly helped to have a particular person in mind when magically altering any of his physical attributes..

By far the best and worst day of the week was his 16th birthday. The Weasleys decorated the entire lower floor of their home in his honour, and the place was covered in balloons and streamers. Mrs. Weasley made him a huge triple-layer chocolate cake with blue icing, and it was perfect in the way that only magically-made cakes can be made. Harry had a plentiful pile of gifts, many of which were fun and useful items and gadgets from his friends in the D.A. It was wonderful that they were particularly mindful of him in that regard. Adonna had given him a new wand, manufactured in America at a place called "Alivan's". It was made of redwood, a particularly rare tree found only in a few forests in North America. It had a core of unicorn mane hair and was 14 inches long. So far, it was the only wand which came close to feeling right in his hand, the only thing even remotely close to his holly wand.

Fred and George had recently started up an apparel line at their joke shop. So far their foray was simply into shirts and hats with slogans on them such as, "Our Fireworks Say Poo", "Parselmouths Kiss Better", "I Practise Safe Hex", and "Go Splinch Yourself". Harry doubted that he would ever have cause to wear the shirts, but he appreciated them nonetheless.

Everybody was so celebratory and in such good spirits that nobody thought anything of it when there was a knock at the door.

"Harry Potter," a dark and threatening voice issued from the doorway, "as you have been accused of murder and have been determined to be of high flight risk, you are to turn in your wand and come with us _immediately_."

By then, nearly everybody had unsheathed their wands and were aiming them toward the intruders. Fred and George had each taken up places on either side of the doorway from the inside. However, Mr. Weasley held up a warning hand to all in the house.

He turned and said to them, "These men are from the Summoning Authority of the Wizengamot. To resist them is to bring yourselves under arrest." Then he turned toward the man at the door and said, "I assume you have the appropriate documentation stating you may take Mr. Potter?"

"We do," answered the voice. The man seemed almost...smug...about it.

Everybody in the house held their breath while Mr. Weasley took the papers and read them, verifying their authenticity. "It appears I have no choice in the matter," he stated sadly. He, along with everyone else, had been hoping there was something out-of-order with the documents, anything that would prevent them from carting Harry away.

"But...what happens if we resist you?" he queried the hulking man in the doorway.

"Then he will be taken _by force_," the deep voice warned.

"You will make sure he is unharmed, then, as per your documents?" Mr. Weasley wanted assurance.

"Yes, yes, of course," the voice said, as if impatient to get on with arresting Harry.

Mr. Weasley then turned reluctantly toward Harry and said, "Harry, I'm so sorry. There's nothing I can do right now. We'll find Dumbledore and he can sort this whole thing out. I'm sure of it."

"Yes, sir," swallowed Harry. "I understand." Then he bravely walked out the door to subject himself to the authorities, stating truthfully that he was unarmed since his wand had been broken.

As soon as the brooding leader and his henchmen had ahold of Harry, four Dementors swooped down out of the sky and overwhelmed him.

Arthur Weasley sounded like he was on the verge of losing it as he cried out, "NO! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T HURT HIM!"

What seemed like a whole company of camouflaged wizards materialised from around the Burrow to aim their wands toward the Weasleys, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, and everybody else who was attempting to defend Harry.

The lead man laughed and replied, "What harm are a few Dementors?"

Though he fought it valiantly, Harry was truly defenseless against the four Dementors without a wand. He felt himself growing colder and colder as more and more of the happiness was sucked straight out of him. Nightmare images began to fill his mind.

As he passed out, he whispered to nobody in particular, "I won't leave you, Jamie!" and then the darkness took him.


	13. Impending Trial

Dear Readers,

Thanks for your hits on this story. I was worried that interest had waned, but that's clearly not the case. Keep reading, please! I was so pleased that I wrote this chapter up for you right quick-like. Especially thank you for the ladies who left me reviews. It helps me more than I can ever tell you!! I doubt I'll be able to submit anything else this week, so enjoy your early Christmas gift--Chappy 13!

~Rae =]

* * *

The lead man cursed as Harry collapsed face-first to the dirt.

"Damn! Those Dementors were supposed to subdue him, not make him faint! Why would that happen?" he yelled to nobody in particular. But Fred came out to answer him anyway.

"Because—you stupid bastard—Harry's experienced things in his life that make him more susceptible to their dark powers. You didn't need them anyway. He came toward you willingly."

"One can never be too careful in my line of work," replied the man, who then directed his largest henchman to pick up Harry off the ground. The latter did so, and he was anything but gentle. Instead he yanked Harry up by one arm and threw him over his back like a sack of potatoes.

Not one person in the Burrow stayed silent watching this treatment of their friend. Cries of protest issued forth from everybody's throat as Fred stepped even further forward. Thinking better of it, he threw his wand to his father and said to the Summoning Authority, "I'm unarmed now. I volunteer to come with you and haul Harry. I don't care how many of you point your wands at me," he said, with his hands in the air, still approaching the henchman who had Harry, "I won't hurt you, I just don't want you to hurt Harry."

George walked passed Molly after handing his wand to her, following in Fred's stead.

"And I'll trade off with him," said George, who was obviously as disgusted by the Authority's treatment of Harry as Fred was.

The lead man watched the twins warily for a bit with all of his other wizards. Then he shrugged, "What harm can they do? They're only two boys. If they want to carry him to his cell, so be it."

Fred carefully took Harry in his arms from the gorilla of a man who originally had him. "It's okay, Harry, mate," said Fred to his unconscious friend, "we'll get you out of this somehow."

George turned back to his family and said, "Mum, Dad, we'll be back as soon as we can."

Then the twins were handed personal Portkeys with pre-determined destinations and were instructed to hold onto them. One was placed and held in Harry's hand as well. One by one, the Authority wizards disappeared. To where, the rest of Harry's friends could only guess.

*~*~*~*~*

Ginny was so afraid for Harry. She was hoping against hope that they wouldn't be taking him to a jail or prison, but once the Summoning Authority man mentioned the word "cell" her first thought was "Azkaban". So far, everybody that she and her brothers had ever heard of who was a flight risk and accused of murder had been hauled off to that wizarding prison. It didn't help calm her mind any that Hermione kept bursting into tears every now and again.

"We need to _do_ something!" cried Hermione over and over, pacing back and forth

"They're already doing everything they can," replied Ron miserably. And it was true.

Less than a minute after all of the Authority wizards had left the Burrow, every adult except Molly Disapparated to various locations. Evidently, this had been as predetermined action. What wasn't planned is that Fred and George would accompany Harry. That was a variable nobody could figure out. However capable the twins were of handling themselves, Ginny fervently hoped they wouldn't do anything foolish that would land them in trouble and cause her family or Harry any more grief than they were already experiencing.

It was maddening to sit around at the Burrow with her mother, doing nothing constructive. For awhile, all Ginny could think of was how cruel the Ministry was to take Harry away on his birthday. Obviously, the charge of murder was serious enough that he would be tried as an adult. And Snape was to defend him. That was yet another variable that threw things off a bit. How competent of a representative would Severus Snape be for Harry Potter? Though she'd never said it, Ginny secretly agreed with Harry that Snape seemed out to get him sometimes.

Moreover, how long would it be before Harry got a trial? After spending an indeterminate amount of time around so many Dementors in Azkaban, would he even be in any condition to stand trial? The Ministry didn't much care for due process of law, it appeared. How could they have built a case against Harry? The Boy Who Lived? It was yet more proof that Voldemort had his hands in everything, had people and organisations wound around his fingers like marionettes. And all the evil man had to do was pull the strings and they'd jump.

It was so wrong, so unfair...hadn't Harry been through enough this summer?

*~*~*~*~*

Hermione couldn't calm her racing thoughts. She just wanted Harry to be okay. Half of her wanted Fred and George to pull off some daring rescue, but the other half of her was worried sick that the twins would make things exponentially worse for Harry if they tried something foolish. It wasn't like her to be so weepy, but then again Harry had never been left so utterly defenseless before. No Cloak, no wand, nothing except the clothes on his back, and he was unconscious to boot. There wasn't much he could do for himself if he was passed out cold. She could've kissed Fred and George for going with him to make sure he was treated okay.

Dumbledore, oh, where was he? They attempted to find him at Hogwarts but many times people popped in an out of the Burrow to leave reports on what was happening. Hermione was frustrated beyond belief that she, Ron, and Ginny had to sit tight and wait for everybody else to handle things, but what else could be done? Nothing, really, except for get one's self into more trouble, and that was the last thing they needed.

Why did everything seem so bleak without Harry? Hermione supposed it was because he offered a sense of stability and assurance that not many other people had. It was truly ironic, given Harry's own personal experiences. Nearly everything in his life, especially for the past five or six years had been anything but stable. Hermione couldn't help but wonder what Dumbledore had gotten Harry into by bringing him into the magic world after being away from it for ten years. It seemed almost cruel to yank him back only to say, "Hello, Harry, I've kept you safe for ten years. Oh, by the way, you were marked for death by the most evil wizard in the world even before you were born. And did I mention you have to kill him or be killed by him?"

_Harry, just be safe, _she thought desperately_, please, please, please be safe..._

_*~*~*~*~*_

Ron kept switching back and forth between his own thoughts and wanting to comfort Hermione. It was nice to have somebody to put an arm around...as worried as he was about Harry, he was worried for Hermione, too.

He was almost certain that Fred and George would pull off some daring rescue in the midst of 50 other wizards. If anybody was capable of that kind of feat, it would be his twin brothers. But what if they got caught? They were being watched so closely. What if Harry was being taken to Azkaban? What if it was ages until he got a trial? Speaking of ages, Ron couldn't remember the last time he ate...

Sometimes people talked about being worried sick, but worrying just made him more hungry. Luckily for him, when Molly was worried, as she was right then, she cooked up a storm.

"No sense in people going hungry," she muttered to herself over and over.

Hermione was pacing and burst into tears again. Ron got up and held her for a time, calming her down enough to get her to sit on the couch once more. Ginny kept sitting quietly in the living room chair, folding her arms and thinking to herself. She very rarely spoke but when she did, it was usually in tight controlled sentences. Oh, how they hated waiting. But there was really nothing else they could do. It was out of their hands. That didn't make it any easier to handle, though.

*~*~*~*~*

Thus far, the only things that Ginny, Ron, and Hermione knew was that Harry was indeed being held in Azkaban. Fred and George were allowed to bring Harry to his cell and nothing more before they were escorted out. Nor did the twins try anything foolish because they didn't wish to make things worse for Harry. They had a helluva time trying to deal with all those Dementors; after the twins came back to the Burrow one of the main things they discussed was the conditions in which they left Harry.

A tiny cold brick cell with barely a mattress and a filthy one at that would be his bed for the next indefinite amount of time. While Harry slept, his arms were shackled together and he was chained to the wall by his bed. Two Dementors hovered outside of his cell at all times.

When Dumbledore found out Harry had been taken to Azkaban, he was beyond livid. He ranted and raved to all in the Ministry building who would listen. He did all he dared—even some things he shouldn't have been able to do—in order to secure Harry's release. The elder man didn't even suggest doing away with the trial; he simply wanted to get Harry away from the Dementors as soon as possible.

Although Harry was eventually released from Azkaban, he was still left in a holding cell at the Ministry building, accompanied by Dementors. That was the best that even Dumbledore could do. He, like everybody else, feared a worse backlash if he and the Order tried more drastic measures.

Professor Dumbledore visited Harry every day—he was the only one besides Snape and Adonna who was granted the privilege. All of them feared for Harry's life but more importantly his mind. If the young man passed out as a result of less than a minute of exposure to a single Dementor, there was no telling what several days or even weeks' worth of contact would do to him.

Thankfully, those in the Order now had Adonna at their disposal as Dumbledore had recruited her post-haste, considering her invaluable knowledge of not only medicine but of Harry's mind. She now knew him better than anybody else because of the Gemini Stasis Charm. She, too, came and visited Harry every day, and sometimes twice a day to check on his status. Although he was no longer unconscious all the time, it appeared he spent most of his waking hours in a state of deep catatonia. It was getting more and more difficult for Adonna to reach him, even with her advanced healing techniques.

If Harry wasn't given a trial, and soon, Snape was certain Dumbledore's patience with the Ministry would run out, and it wouldn't matter whom he angered when Harry was at last released. The headmaster had a way with getting exactly what he wanted and it was just a matter of time before it was granted. Time, however, was a precious commodity of which they didn't seem to have enough.

*~*~*~*~*

Severus Snape would soon carry the dubious distinction of defending an alleged murderer in a trial. While Presenter Judiciaries often craved such an honour, Severus Snape was clearly not one of those. Though he showed disdain to Dumbledore and anybody else who cared to see, in reality, he was quite concerned for Lily's son. Harry Potter was definitely a fighter, but Snape wasn't certain how long the boy could last against several Dementors. Potter was Gryffindor, and thus far, that meant he'd had very little staying power and burned out rather quickly. It was a weakness that most of his House possessed, and Severus could not stop himself hoping that Potter could hold out just this once.

Dementors caused despair and depression of the worst sort, emotions that Snape was all too familiar with. His anger and rage had somewhat saved him from being affected in the same way Harry had. Despite growing up in a rather hopeless situation with his dreadful relatives, Harry had rarely experienced those sort of emotions. Snape both marvelled and loathed him for this, though he couldn't explain why. Nor was he ever in the mood to do so.

The thing foremost in Snape's mind was that he would defend Potter with everything he had, and curse those of Voldemort's followers who called him a supporter of Dumbledore. He could always claim that he had to put on a proper show. Yes, that's what he would do, should it come to that. It was far easier to mask his concern as play-acting, instead of claiming to defend the light. Precarious as Potter's current position was, Snape's was even more of a razor's edge. Which suited the head of Slytherin House just fine.

At this moment in time, he craved secrecy as much as the Dark Lord craved notoriety. Having an imperfect public profile wasn't necessarily a positive thing with Snape's conjunction with Potter. Once the Slytherin won the teen's trial, however, he would make the media and everybody else feel like that which they all were—a bunch of incompetent dunderheads.

*~*~*~*~*

"Harry, stay with me," exhorted Madam Adonna. She was in his cell with him, giving him one of his so-called "treatments". In actuality, they were more like boosts to his confidence, self-esteem, so he wouldn't feel so off.

He rarely spoke aloud now; the presence of the Dementors was too strong. So Adonna felt the distress and despair through his mind. _What's the use? Even if I fight, they'll put me back in here again. Please, just let me die. Anything is better than trying to live like this._

"How can you say that?" she responded aloud. "Everybody has pulled together for you. They don't care that you're being charged with killing your relatives. They know the truth. After all that they've fought for, after all that they've done, how can you just give up? That doesn't sound like the Harry Potter whom I know at all."

"You know me, do you? You don't know anything," he whispered tersely.

"On the contrary, I know you better than you know yourself. I know that your guilt is eating you alive. It's been in the back of your mind ever since you awoke from your coma and you'd been steadily shoving it away. Now, however...now it's been brought to the very front of your thoughts."

"Oh, really?" Harry snapped. "So what am I thinking at this very moment, O She-Who-Knows-Me?"

"You're worried that if you do go through a trial, and they examine your testimony, they'll find that you did indeed kill your relatives."

A long silence ensued. Adonna was hoping to scare him into a fight to keep his emotions churning—it was better than the catatonia he slipped into so often now. However, all he said was three clipped words before he turned around and faced the wall.

"_Get. Out. Now._"


	14. Dudley Dunderhead

At last Harry's trial date arrived. The wizarding media circus was practically unbelievable, but because Muggles were involved, there was quite the aura of secrecy surrounding everything. It was, of course, largely farce. Everybody in the magic world knew what was going on because of the leaks being fed to The Daily Prophet and other such organizations.

The accused was not present when the trial commenced because the accuser's main witness refused to testify with Harry present. Not that Dudley's handlers would have allowed Harry to have direct eye contact with their star witness. To nobody's surprise, Mr. Zedward Finkle just so happened to be the Presenter Judiciary for the prosecution. And the Chief Inquisitor happened to be none other than Dolores Umbridge. And of course, for Harry Potter, there was Severus Snape.

An insane number of authorities and wizards showed up at the Ministry bright and early, and Dolores Umbridge entered the enormous trial chamber with as much pomp, disdain, and unctuousness as one with her size and features could muster, whilst walking to the head seat in the chamber.. She nearly tripped over her chartreuse Chief Inquisitor robe on the way up the steps. Everybody in the room who was there to support Harry Potter secretly smirked as they stood, flanking the toady woman's walk to her chair.

"Hem hem," she began, "you may all be seated. We will begin with the traditional formalities." Her assistant read out the entire roster of the Wizengamot. Everybody except those who had been killed or gone missing were present. Amelia Bones, in particular, was missed greatly by those who supported Harry, since it was largely due to her intervention that the charges against him were dropped the last time he faced the Wizengamot.

Many names were exchanged and documents were read before it was time to bring the first witness forward. It took Umbridge nearly an hour to complete the requisite introductions, and there was no doubt she relished every second of her authority.

"Hem hem. Mr. Finkle, you may bring in your first witness," said the toad-faced woman.

Dudley Dursley was pale-faced and shaking. He gawked around the courtroom as he was led inside by a court page. The stout young man tripped over his own two feet several times and even uttered aloud, "Blimey, look at all those wizards..." Seeing the Ministry building and Wizengamot had to be the singular most terrifying experiences of Dudley's life. Until the moment he saw them, the most wizards he'd ever seen in one spot was the Order of the Phoenix. Now he was surrounded by hundreds of Harry's kind, and it was clear he had no idea what to think about that. The prosecution coddled him like he was an infant. "Are you okay, Mr. Dursley?", "Do you need refreshment, Mr. Dursley?", and "Would you like a moment, Mr. Dursley?" were all questions uttered by Zedward Finkle and his cronies. It was enough to make one feel ill. However, it was more than likely Dudley himself was a pawn in this great scheme. He warily eyed the heavy chains attached to the side of the witness chair in the centre of the room. They moved slightly of their own accord and he simultaneously squawked and jumped away from them.

Severus Snape watched this whole spectacle with an unreadable expression on his face. He found it increasingly difficult to bite his tongue about bringing a Muggle to the wizarding court. _Your time will come, and soon, _ he repeatedly reminded himself.

"Now, Mr. Dursley, please state your full name and age for those present," instructed Mr. Finkle.

Dudley looked at him blankly and replied, "But you just said my name. Why do I have to say it again?"

Mr. Finkle adopted a look of fake patience and repeated, "Just state your full name and age, please."

"Okay," shrugged the plump young man, "I'm Dudley Vernon Dursley, and I'm 16 years old."

"Very well, Mr. Dursley. Thank you. Now, where were you on the evening in question?"

Dudley looked at Finkle strangely again and said, "But you didn't question me about an evening."

Visibly fighting the urge to sigh, Finkle replied, "It means where were you on the night of 30th June this year."

"Oh, erm, I was with my mum and dad watching the telly. And then we went to Kings Cross Station to go pick up Harry." Dudley got a dark look on his face as he said his cousin's name.

"Harry whom?"

"You already know the answer to that. It's Harry Potter," answered Dudley, as if it were Finkle who was the slow one. Finkle ignored it.

"And why were you picking up Harry Potter?"

"Because it was the end of his term at—at—Hogwiggers, or whatever he calls that bloody wizard school of his."

The Wizengamot bristled at this statement. _Think what you will about wizards_, they seemed to say to Dudley, _just don't insult our most prestigious boarding school in the entire United Kingdom._ Even Snape raised an eyebrow.

"And what mode of transportation did your family use to get to Kings Cross Station?"

Again, Dudley looked at Finkle as if he had a couple of loose screws and said, "By car, of course. How else?" A few of the members of the Wizengamot smirked. Umbridge smiled her wide toadish grin.

"How else, indeed," echoed Finkle, causing a few of the Wizegamot to chuckle. Dudley frowned.

"Mr. Dursley, did you notice anything unusual about your cousin, Harry Potter, that evening?"

"Well, he's usually very quiet. But this time, he was even more silent than usual. And he seemed angry, too. He even told my dad he could 'bugger off'!" Furious scribbling broke out among the Wizengamot. This was clearly the type of information for which they had been looking.

"Did Harry Potter say why he was angry?"

"No."

"Mr. Dursley, did you, in fact, witness Harry Potter perform magic?"

"I don't know what he did, but once he got in the car, something happened. There was green sparks, like lightning that engulfed the whole thing. It happened after he shut the door."

"Excuse me," interrupted a member of the Wizengamot, who was also raising a hand.

"Hem hem," said Umbridge, "the chair recognises Joyce Prince."

"This question is for Mr. Dursley. Did Harry Potter use his wand to perform this magic?"

"What? No, his wand was in his pocket." A collective pause, and then more furious scribbling. "But I just _know_ he did something!"

"I see," said Joyce. "And did you confront Harry Potter about this?"

"No, but my dad did. That's when Harry swore at him."

"Did Harry Potter deny having performed magic?"

"Yes. He said he couldn't have done it, because his owl's cage was on his lap."

"And was the owl cage on Harry Potter's lap?"

"Yes."

"So you're asking us to believe that Harry Potter somehow performed wandless magic whilst being hampered with an owl cage on his lap?"

"Well...yeah." Dudley looked confused at this, as if he were giving away some sort of secret. It seemed something in his dim brain recognised that was a rather critical piece of information. It also seemed he was taking his cues by the way the Wizengamot and others in the room were taking notes on the case.

During this exchange, Finkle had leaned over to Umbridge and was speaking quietly into her ear.

"Thank you, Mr. Dursley. That is all," said Joyce Prince.

"Mr. Dursley? Yes, ahem," said Umbridge, "I understand you've seen your cousin perform magic before?"

"Yes, I certainly have!"

"And when have you seen Harry Potter do magic?"

"It was last summer. He—he did—something—made it go all dark, soundless, and cold." Suddenly, Dudley shuddered with memory. "I felt like I was dying," he said so quietly it was difficult to hear.

"Please speak up, Mr. Dursley, so the court can hear you." Umbridge's face had an odd look of glee upon it now.

Dudley frowned deeply at her and rubbed his hands across his arms as if trying to warm himself up. "I said I felt like I was dying."

"Then what happened, Mr. Dursley?"

Dudley mumbled something incomprehensible.

"What was that?"

"I said I don't rightly remember what happened."

"Very well, Mr. Dursley. Thank you. Your witness, Mr. Finkle."

"Madam Inquisitor, the prosecution is through questioning this witness for now, but would like to reserve the right to recall said witness."

"Right to recall the witness is hereby granted," said Umbridge. "It is now the defense's turn to question this witness."

Severus Snape stood up regally out of his seat and swept into the centre of the room. He quite enjoyed the look of terror he evoked upon Dudley Dursley's face. Dudley kept looking at Mr. Finkle as if pleading for him to do something.

"Greetings, Mr. Dursley," said Snape. Best to start subtle and then go for the kill.

"I ask for you to tell the court again, in your own words, what happened the evening of 30th June this year."

Dudley gulped. "Again?" He looked to Finkle who nodded.

"Okay. When we went to get Harry at Kings Cross, he was sullen. He had his hands jammed in his pockets and hardly said a word to us. After we got him from inside the train station, we all walked out to the car. Me, Mum, and Dad all got inside while Harry put his stuff in the boot. When he got in the car and shut the door, green lightning flashed around the outside of the car. Kind of like a strobe light." Dudley paused.

"Go on," said Snape.

"Then Dad yelled at Harry and asked him what he meant by doing magic. Harry yelled straight back at him and told him he had more important things to deal with us than us. Then he told Dad he could bugger off."

"Hmm," said Snape contemplatively. "And did Harry Potter ever tell you _why_ he was in such a terrible mood?"

"Well, er, no. He didn't."

"He had lost his godfather in a tragic accident the week before. Mr. Dursley, wouldn't you agree that losing one's godfather is cause enough for a bad mood?"

"I..." Dudley faded off. "I suppose so. But that still doesn't excuse what he did."

"You also say that he tried to kill you and your parents. Why, pray tell, would he do such a thing when he was in the car with you?"

"Er, uh, I don't know why he does what he does!"

"Are you suggesting he was homicidal or suicidal? Think carefully before answering, Mr. Dursley. Both are very different states of mind."

"I suppose I'm saying he was homicidal," Dudley answered quietly.

"I repeat: then why would Mr. Potter attempt to kill you, his only living family, whilst he was in the vehicle with you? Especially in a car wreck which caused him the sort of injuries it did?"

Dudley paused for so long, it was as if he was going to refuse to answer.

"Hem hem," said Inquisitor Umbridge, "you must answer the question, Mr. Dursley."

"I don't know why he'd try and kill us. I just know he doesn't like us."

"Are you aware, also, Mr. Dursley, that your cousin nearly _died_ in this car crash? That it was only by swift medical intervention that he, himself, is still alive? Does this sound like the story of a cold-blooded killer to you?"

"No. It doesn't," muttered Dudley. "But as I said, he doesn't like us."

"And why doesn't Mr. Potter like you and your family, Mr. Dursley? Could it possibly be since you force him to live like a Muggle when he is with you? Could it possibly be because you and your parents have verbally assaulted him for being who he is? That you've physically assaulted him on numerous occasions in his youth, all because his exhibited magical tendencies? Tendencies which amongst our kind are not only _natural_ but _expected?_"

"He tried to kill my mum and dad!" shouted Dudley, clearly upset with Snape's badgering. "So I got him back! I hit him as hard as I could during the crash when the car was rolling!"

His voice rang out loud and clear in the courtroom. Everybody was staring at him in shock.

"So then, Mr. Dursley, what you are now saying is that you tried to kill your own cousin?"

"N-N-No, I--"

"Madam Inquisitor!" at last Finkle stood up out of his seat, "I demand that question be recanted and stricken from the record!"


	15. Change of Heart

Dear Readers,

Wowee wow! Judging by the amount of hits I'm getting on this story, it's still wickedly popular! Thank you!

As cockney dialect is extraordinarily tricky to type, I debated whether or not to include a certain character in this chapter...but decided it must be done. It wouldn't be the same without him. So please forgive me if his accent/dialect is a bit off. It's rather difficult considering I generally speak American English, not British English! And...as always--enjoy! Love, Rae

* * *

Chief Inquisitor Umbridge came to the rescue.

"Agreed, Mr. Finkle." She turned to Dudley and said, "Mr. Dursley, you do not have to answer that question." Then she turned to Snape and admonished him. "Mr. Snape, the witness is not on trial. That question was wholly inappropriate." More furious scribbling than ever before was happening within not only the Wizengamot, but the entire chamber.

Though Snape inclined his head in acquiescence instead of fighting the issue with Umbridge, it didn't matter. The question and Dudley's answer might be stricken from the record, but the Wizengamot had already heard what Severis wanted them to hear. Try as they might, the prosecution couldn't strike Dudley's reaction from the minds within the Wizengamot. Snape had achieved precisely what he wanted.

"No further questions, Madam Inquisitor," said Snape.

"Mr. Dursley," Umbridge addressed the young man, "you are excused." Then the same court page who had escorted him into the chamber escorted him out. Dudley was somewhere between seething and wanting to cry and couldn't seem to leave the room fast enough.

Soon afterward, the page brought in Stan Shunpike. Stan didn't appear to be doing much better than Dudley did at first, although it seemed he was doing his best to appear brave. Facing down hundreds of one's wizardly peers couldn't be easy for him. He, too, nervously approached the witness chair and shrank away from the chains surrounding it.

"State your full name, age, and occupation for those assembled," began Mr. Finkle.

Stan brushed away some non-existent lint off his tattered tweed trousers and said, "I'm Standard Stuart Shunpike. Twenty-three years old, former conductor o' th' Knight Bus, now s'pended from my job." Stan didn't appear too happy about that.

"And would you please tell us why you're suspended, Mr. Shunpike?"

"For 'elping 'Arry Potter."

Finkle cleared his throat a bit loudly at this, as if that weren't what he'd wanted Stan to say. So he appeared to try a different tactic.

"Mr. Shunpike, will you tell us, in your own words, what happened the night of 30th June this year?"

"'Kay. Well, me an' Ernie, th' Knight Bus driver, were on th' bus. We made sev'ral stops in London, but th' oddest one was when we stopped a' a play park. We couldn't see anybody a' first outside th' bus. But when I went outside, I 'eard 'im talkin' to us. 'Ee said 'ee was 'Arry Potter, and that 'ee was 'urt, wif other 'urt people 'oo needed our 'elp."

"And then what happened, Mr. Shunpike?"

Stan swallowed hard and pulled at his collar as he looked down at the floor and began to answer. "I said me an' Ernie didn't believe 'im, since we'd been pranked b'fore by n'vis'ble wizards. They'd nearly stole the bus b'fore, an' we didn't wanna 'ave it 'appen again."

"So you were attempting to protect the property and other passengers who were put in your charge?"

"Yeah, s'pose I was." Stan puffed up a bit at that.

"Hem hem," interrupted Umbridge, "the chair recognises Ashlar Trelane."

A tall wizard with dark hair had stood up out of his seat. "Thank you, Madam Inquisitor. This question is for Mr. Shunpike. Mr. Shunpike, were you aware of the Alert that had gone out over the Wizarding Wireless Network concerning Harry Potter that night? The one that said he was missing, possibly injured and requiring assistance?"

Stan visibly deflated and said, "No," in as soft a voice as possible. "At least, no' til Madam Adonna told us."

"I see. And who is this Madam Adonna?" continued Trelane.

"She was another passenger on th' bus that night. An' she's an 'ealer at St. Mungo's," Stan added helpfully.

"And you say she was the one who told you about the Wizarding Wireless Alert?"

"Yeah, we were 'bout to leave, Ernie an' me. But she didn't let us. 'Stead o' leavin', she ran out th' bus, did somefin' which made 'Arry visible, an' 'elped 'im inside th' bus. An' 'Arry _was_ 'urt. Bad. 'Ee was covered in blood. 'Fit weren't for Madam Adonna, we'd 'ave left 'im an' th' others behind." Stan obviously felt terrible at the thought of the blunder he and Ernie had committed.

"Others, Mr. Shunpike? The other hurt people, you mean?"

"Yeah. Y'see, when Madam Adonna made 'Arry visible again, she also made a car visible. :'Twas smashed t' bits, was this car, an' I reckon that's 'ow 'Arry go' 'urt so bad. 'Ee an' th' others go' in a crash together. That's what 'Arry told Madam Adonna."

"You said earlier that Madam Adonna was a Healer. Was she therefore helping the other injured people?"

"Yeah. After she'd 'elped 'Arry. An' they weren't covered in blood like 'Arry was, but they weren't awake either. No' like 'Arry. 'Fit weren't for 'Arry Summoning th' Knight Bus, 'ee an' th' three others might've died, I reckon. It was th' best fing 'ee could've done, as we 'ad an' 'ealer right on th' bus wif us."

The members of the Wizengamot paused momentarily in their note-keeping. Though they most likely had heard about Harry's life-saving actions after the crash in the papers, it was quite another thing entirely to hear it stated by an actual eye-witness. Perhaps Harry Potter wasn't the lunatic that certain members of the Ministry were portraying him to be after all.

Finkle was clearly annoyed at having questioning control pass from him, but there was very little he could do except for stand back and allow it to happen. Clearly, not all of the Wizengamot members were mindless, afraid, or controlled by Finkle and his forces.

"Did you speak with Harry Potter personally?" cotinued Ashlar.

"Aye, 'im an' me were on th' bus t'gether when Madam Adonna was 'elping 'Arry's relatives. Even though 'ee was 'urt, 'ee was still worried 'bout 'em.

"Did Madam Adonna bring the three other injured people onto the Knight Bus as well?"

"Yeah, 'ceptin' they were lyin' on beds like an 'ospital's got. Th' other passengers 'elped Madam Adonna bring 'em aboard."

"I am finished with my questions," said Trelane. "Thank you, Mr. Shunpike, Madam Inquisitor." He bowed a little and then seated himself.

Finkle pounced with his next question, "Mr. Shunpike, Madam Adonna brought the injured passengers onto the Knight Bus, but isn't that also when she brought aboard the two Muggle police offiers?"

"Well, of course. What was she s'posed t' do, just knock 'em out an' start a Muggle-wizard brawl in th' middle of th' night a' a play park?" asked Stan practically.

And so it continued for two hours, Mr. Finkle attempting to get Shunpike to implicate Harry Potter with innumerable probing questions, but Stan never quite cooperated. He never seemed to quite get that he was supposed to be a witness for the prosecution instead of the defence. Thusly, when it was time for Snape to question him, he declined. There was no need since Stan had inadvertently cast Harry in the best possible light.

*~*~*~*~*

In an unprecedented move, Dudley Dursley demanded to be taken to Harry Potter's cell in the Ministry Building. This happened awhile after he'd been led from the witness chamber. Magical means, allowed Dudley to listen to Stan's testimony going on in the adjacent room. The surprising thing was that Dudley wasn't even supposed to know that Harry was on the premises, but he was apparently more resourceful than his handlers gave him credit for.

At first, Finkle's people flatly refused Dudley's request because they didn't wish to cause an incident that was beyond the range of credible witnesses. But then Dudley began to get more cross and angry than they thought possible. It wasn't until they made him sign a form which stated he wouldn't physically hurt the prisoner that they allowed him to see Harry at last. A guard was also to remain present in the cell with them at all times.

As Dudley was led into the dark cell, he felt the two Dementors bleeding away his happy thoughts again. Not that he had many positive thoughts to begin with, considering the mood he was in. It was his intention to go in and face the boy who tried to kill his parents, yell at him, tell him off once and for all, but that wasn't how it happened.

Instead, Dudley walked up behind Harry's back. The black-haired wizard was lying down on his tattered bunk in his black and white prison uniform, facing the wall, as was his customary position.

"How do you do it?" Dudley asked in a voice just above a whisper.

"Dudley?" asked Harry incredulously. "Is that you?" He lifted his head a little, though he didn't turn around.

"How do you do it?" Dudley repeated. It seemed he was desperate for an answer. Was he about to cry?

"Do what, Dudley?" Harry turned and fully faced his cousin.

"Live without your parents." Unexpectedly, tears began flowing down Dudley's cheeks. Only these tears weren't the crocodile tears of a spoiled brat. They were genuine tears of suffering and grief. It didn't take a genius or a telepath to know that Dudley was hurting. Dudley begged the guard to send the Dementors away while he was with Harry. The guard complied, but only after he brought in a second guard to accompany him and limited the visit to two minutes.

Harry stared and stared at the blonde boy in front of him, completely unsure of how to answer. His cousin had nearly killed him out of a thirst for revenge. Harry already knew something of that. Dudley was a key witness for the prosecution in his murder trial which was happening that very day. So what was Dudley doing down in Harry's prison cell?

"A bloke named Sh-Shunpike says you saved us all, and didn't l-leave us to die. Is—is that true?" Dudley choked out through his tears.

Again, at a loss, Harry answered simply, "Yes."

"That's not what Finkle and Aunt Marge said. I--" Dudley looked around the cell, as if for the first time and took a long look at his cousin. Harry was thinner than ever, pale, dirty, and his glasses were gone.

"You saved us. But now—you're here, in that awful uniform, because of me. Because of us."

Harry nodded in spite of himself. At first, he had wanted to scream and yell and hurt Dudley as much as he'd been hurting but suddenly....revenge didn't seem all that wonderful anymore.

"I'm so sorry," said Dudley, as he began weeping again. "I know that doesn't change anything."

Slowly, Harry shook his head. "Dudley...it changes everything." What was he doing? After all that Dudley had put him through, was he really about to _forgive_ him? "Because now, we can do this together." For the first time ever, Dudley looked hopeful.

"It's not your fault I'm here. Finkle used you. I know that now. But even if your parents don't make it--" Dudley's eyes closed at that, "--we're still cousins. That means we can help each other out, okay?"

Dudley studied Harry again in the darkness. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

Unflinchingly, Harry answered, "Because blood is thicker than water. And you sent the Dementors away, however briefly. I can think more like myself again."

A sudden thought occurred to Dudley and he timidly asked another question. "What is it that you see...when those Dementing Things are near you?"

Harry looked straight into his eyes and replied, "I see pain. I see death. I see—my mum being murdered."

Dudley's jaw dropped and he gaped at Harry. His eyes misted over again and he vowed, "Somehow, Harry, I'll help you out of this. I promise."


	16. Virtual Miracle

Dear Readers,

It's been awhile since I've got reviews ordering me to finish a story. While some authors might not like them, I can appreciate it wholly! It just means you're enthusiastic about the work. Trust me--so am I--that's why I posted another chapter so quickly. It's not quite as long as most, just consider it a "bonus chapter" since I only tend to publish one new chapter a month. What am I doing with my time you might ask? Well, I DO have a life outside of fan fiction and the internet *gasp* and I've also been writing another story/fic also published here, entitled TPR. So in between trying to have a regular life, watching 4 children, and be a judge at speech/debate tournaments, you can imagine that writing is a bit low on the priority list. What makes this chapter particularly awesome is that I have managed to post it even though my old pc has quit working. Yes, that's right. Kaput. I do not yet know if it can be revived...but thanks to your enthusiastic response, my muse is still burning very brightly and I wanted to post this "bonus chapter" as a thank-you for your reviews. They mean the world to me, you know!

Love,

Rae! =]

* * *

The next day, Madam Adonna went to visit Harry in his cell. It seemed that week was destined to be full of surprises, since Adonna brought something unique with her. After the authorities gave her parcel much thorough examination inside and out, she was allowed to present it to Harry. His initial reaction wasn't quite what she had been hoping for, unfortunately.

Of course, she had been pleasantly surprised about Dudley Dursley's turn-around the previous day when he had come to visit Harry. However, she felt the best thing to come out of it was to see Harry's spirits bolstered. And certainly his cousin's vow to get Harry out of prison had to have meant a lot. But Adonna harboured no illusions about why Harry's meeting with Dudley went so well; it had to be since the Dementors were removed from the cell.

That brief respite for Harry's psyche had given Adonna the best hope for him yet. Hope that was was still in there somewhere, locked deep within himself.

Now, it was as though the hopeful upbeat Harry glimpsed so briefly by Dudley yesterday had never existed at all. Adonna wondered just how much more of this imprisonment he could take before the real Harry withdrew permanently.

"So what has Finkle manufactured for me in court doday?" Harry asked dejectedly. He was facing the wall as usual.

I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that," Adonna replied. _Nor do I particularly care to find out what that vile man has in store, _the healer thought to herself. "But I do have something for you."

"Will it help get me out of here?"

"I highly doubt it but--"

"Well then, what good is it?" Harry abruptly cut her off. "Why are you even here?" he demanded. "Come to stare at the mental prisoner?"

"Harry," Adonna began long-sufferingly, "you know that's not true. You are also well aware the main reason I come here is to help you."

Madam Adonna had grown quite accustomed to Harry's emotional outbursts. She had long since learned it was far better to engage him in conversation than allow him to stonewall her or slip into his catatonic state. She also just happened to have something in her hands that she knew would interest Harry greatly, even if he pretended otherwise.

"I have something here that is addressed to you. It has evidently had quite the journey trying to get to you, considering it was mailed approximately two weeks after your godfather died." Harry turned his head at that. Adonna continued, "The parcel has no return address on the outside, but it does have the Ministry seal on the outside box. More astonishing still are the contents inside" The healer passed the brown box to Harry. She knew she had his undivided attention. Finally he turned away from the wall and took the box from Adonna's hands.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry asked, suddenly wary of Adonna's keen interest in his reactions.

The healer sighed shortly. "Will you quit stalling and just open the thing already?" Sometimes Harry's moodiness could get rather taxing.

Shrugging, Harry opened the brown box only to find it contained another box. But the other box was brought yellow and was covered with images of balloons and streamers.

"It looks like a birthday present," harry said incredulously, "but why would the Ministry send one to me, of all people?"

"Go on--open it!" Adonna said excitedly.

Harry lifted the lid off the top of the yellow box and peered inside it. On the top was a piece of parchment with a Ministry letterhead on it. "Dear Mr. Potter, he read aloud, "approximately 15 years ago, your godfather, Sirius Black, was not content to let you live with your Muggle relatives. The following documents are proof of how much he truly disagreed with Professor Dumbledore on where you should go after your parents were killed. It was your godfather's intention to present you with the following papers on the day he was exonerated from his lifetime of imprisonment. As we both know, that day never came and Sirius died a fugitive. Read on and you will really see what happened the day after Lily and James passed on. Hopefully then you can understand why this was never shared with you until after Sirius's death as well. Signed, A Friend."

Utterly confused now, Harry threw Adonna a look before he picked up the mysterious explanatory letter and looked at the page underneath it. He shook his head as if he must have been seeing things.

"Official Certificate of Adoption," he whispered as he read aloud, "for Harry James Potter..." he glimpsed the names in the blanks. Evidently, Sirius had seen fit to adopt him from the Dursleys...

An inexplicably powerful tsunami of feeling, memory, and confusion crashed over Harry. Images...words...scenes...sounds...emotions...all seemingly of another time and place. It was far too much for the young man to handle in his current state. He fell off the bed to the floor and sank to his knees, trembling from head to toe. Madam Adonna rushed to his aid immediately.

"Wh-what just ha-happened to m-me?" he asked her shakily.

At first, the healer thought Harry might have been having a seizure, but to her practised eye, she quickly realised it was something else. Harry was probably experiencing more repressed memories. His next comment confirmed it.

"It...it's like I've seen that adoption cert before. But how--and when?"

"Harry," Adonna said seriously, "I think the dreams, memories, and feelings of deja vu you've been experiencing are most likely from some alternate reality you've experienced. It might sound a bit far-fetched, but I know you've experienced time travel before."

Still shaky, Harry got up off the floor and nodded in agreement to the healer, "Yes, I have."

"Well, I believe I was most likely with you in that alternate reality. That would explain the similarities and differences in our flashbacks and nightmares. One thing that helps confirm my theory is in that yellow box." She bent down to pick up the box, as it had been accidentally bumped off the bed by Harry during his tumble to the floor.

She showed Harry two small death certificates. One had Sirius Black's name on it, but the other one had _his_ name on it! What was going on? Was he supposed to have died trying to rescue his godfather in the Department of Mysteries or something in that other reality? No, that wasn't it...somebody had cursed the car and caused it to crash...Harry had woken up hours later in the Dursley's car--or, wait. Didn't the car crash happen in their reality and not the alternate reality?

"Harry!" Adonna raised her voice, "snap out of it!" Apparently, he had zoned out again whilst simply trying to make heads or tails of what was real and what was not. The healer had been worried that Harry was becoming catatonic again.

As Harry held his own death cert in his hands, he became more and more convinced that the key to solving the whole puzzle lay with that one document. Now if they could only unlock its secrets. He told Adonna this and she agreed. She also noticed how much easier it was to communicate with Hary if one could manage to distract him from himself. The mystery she presented to him appeared to be just the trick this time.

"If only we knew who sent this stuff!" said Harry in frustration.

"Do you really think that matters? For all we know, it could just be some Ministry official who had to release the documents to you once Sirius had died."

"Hmmm," said Harry, "and furthermore, if this was sent to me in July, why did it take so long to get to me?"

"Three reasons," answered Adonna. "One-you've been moved around quite a lot this summer; two-you spent a lot of it in an unconscious state; therefore three-the parcel got caught up and lost in all of that mail you were sent following the car crash."

_Ironically, the fanmail strikes again, _thought Adonna. At the time that Harry was sent all that stuff from his adorers, Adonna had been unconscious herself. It had proven to be such a nuisance for Harry and his friends. But now...suddenly, magically, a plan started formulating in her mind.

"I hate to leave so abruptly, Harry, but I need to go find Dumbledore and Snape straightaway. We may have just inadvertently stumbled upon something that could help you out of this.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry needed a virtual miracle to happen for his case and he needed it soon.

That very day, High Inquisitor Umbirdge had threatened to pass an edict to give Veritaserum to Harry Potter. Her liberal usage of the potion at Hogwarts school the previous year had become a thing of infamy in the wizard community. One thing was certain: there was no telling what Harry would spill to everyone if fed Veritaserum in front of such a large audience. Therefore, it must not be allowed to happen. How Dumbledore and company could stop it was beyond anybody's guess.


	17. The Witnesses

Dear Readers,

Thank you for waiting so patiently for this next chapter. I've been very very busy as of late, not to mention I was without a computer for nearly a month! Plus, well, I've been focusing on another story called The Prophecy Renewed. [Also on this website.] So! Without further ado, here is your chapter!

~Rae

* * *

Zedward Finkle brought in the expected parade of witnesses against Harry's character. One by one, Severus Snape systematically shot down their testimonies.

It was a great sport, watching the Slytherin professor poke holes in what was originally declared an air-tight case. Finkle's ship was now sinking, and badly. And he still didn't know his star witness had switched sides. It was of Snape's opinion that Dudley should keep silent on the matter at present.

By far the most amusing character witness against Harry had to be Gregory Goyle. Snape didn't even have to say anything before Goyle blurted out something about "finally getting even with that Potter lout" before Umbridge had him dismissed from the courtroom. It appeared even she had a low tolerance for openly belligerent and biased witnesses.

At long last, Umbridge put an end to the parade, finally asking Finkle if his witnesses had anything credible to add to the case. When he answered no, the Chief Inquisitor told Snape it was his turn to bring in his witnesses.

Nobody was surprised to see Madam Adonna walk to the stand, as she held herself regally and refused to allow anybody to stare her down. Even Snape had failed in the task in the recent past, so that was saying something.

"State your name, age, and profession," Snape said boredly.

"I am Madam Adonna Danneka Tonks, 32, and a medical healer by profession."

Shortly proceeding Adonna's entrance, Severus Snape chose to show a piece of evidence, Exhibit A, to the assembly. The court page brought out the piece of evidence, handling it with extreme care. Snape removed it from the page's hands, handling it just as delicately.

Murmuring broke out amongst the people, as many of them recognised what had been presented to them. It was Harry Potter's damaged holly wand; the wand which had broken in two pieces and Harry had managed to somewhat-reassemble with his broken glasses.  
"Ahh," said Snape, "I see that some of you recognise this piece of evidence. A curious thing indeed, considering you're all supposedly impartial." A hush fell over those assembled. "Nevertheless, to those who don't know, this is Harry Potter's wand, the wand which so many have been wondering about. Does it, indeed, hold within its core the spells that Harry Potter may have cast against his relatives? And how, indeed, may we extract the spell-echoes from its core if it is damaged?"

He walked around the centre of the court arena, holding the wand aloft for all to observe. Then he turned to his witness. "Madam Adonna?"

"The answer, my fellow witches and wizards, is yes," answered Adonna. "You see, Harry Potter himself _did _manage to get the wand to work, but only after he managed to reinstate the magical connection. How, you may ask? Following the injuries he acquired during the accident, it had his blood all over it, and as we know, there is powerful magic connected with blood. Therein lies the key. We need Harry Potter's _living blood_ in order to reinstate the magical connection."

"But where are we going to get that?" said Snape, pretending to ponder.

"From Harry Potter, of course."

"Of course," Snape replied, gesturing to the court page once more, this time to bring in Harry Potter. It looked more like the guards had to drag him in as his head was down and he was as limp as a dishrag.

Not having expected this unprecedented appearance, several people in the courtroom stood up out of their seats and people began chattering animatedly. Chief Inquisitor Umbridge had to demand order several times.

"Calm yourselves," continued Snape, he is in here for one purpose only." Another witch, this time in healer's robes, walked into the arena. She exposed the crook of Harry's arm, applied her wand to the bend of his elbow, and drew the wand away. Harry was then immediately removed from the courtroom. Then Severus walked over to the witch with Harry's holly wand. The witch applied her wand to Harry's in three places, top, middle and base. Harry's wand emitted a few sparks as the magical connection reinstated itself once more.

"Are we all agreed that a healer has sufficient expertise to perform a Priori Incantatem spell? Snape asked of the assembly. Not one person objected. "Proceed," he said to the healer.

"Priori Incantatem!" she said.

The end of Harry's wand presented a series of ephemeral images and sounds to everyone, the most disturbing of which was Bellatrix's laugh at Harry's failed Cruciatus Curse against her. Nobody who wasn't at the Department of Mysteries that night recognised it for what it was, however. Then the last phantom spell poured forth and it happened to be Harry's Patronus; the charm which he had performed for his O.W.L.s nearly two months ago. Nothing that the prosecution claimed Harry had done was evidenced in the spell memory of his broken wand.

The courtroom remained silent for some time after the Priori Incantatem spell-echoes had finished. They seemed to realise that whether or not underage magical activity had come from the vicinity of Harry or his relatives, it had most certainly not come from Harry himself. It had to have come from another underage wizard. But whom? It certainly seemed as if somebody had been trying to frame him.

"What about wandless magic?" somebody brought up.

Severus simply smiled and said, "Yes, what about it? As an instructor of Potter's, I can tell you he is abysmal at wandless magic. In fact, he still has to say his spells aloud in order to cast them. I can assure you that wandless magic is well above his abilities."

"How convenient," muttered a voice. It sounded like Finkle.

"Now, Madam Adonna, please tell us, in your own words, what happened on the night in question."

"I was riding the Knight Bus while it made its various stops. One, I felt, was very peculiar. As Ernie and Stan looked outside the bus trying to find the patron who had stopped it, nobody appeared to be there. However, I heard a voice speaking. It sounded like a young male voice. He sounded quite distressed. It was then that I discerned it could be the teenage wizard that was talked about in the Wizarding Wireless Alert given that very night. I was surprised neither Stan nor Ernie knew about it."

"Please go on."

"Stan and Ernie were about to get back on the bus and drive away, when I came out of the bus, pointed my wand at the young wizard, and ended what I'd guessed was a Disillusionment Charm that was cast upon him. About that time, he began to collapse to the ground, so I caught him. Even though he was so badly hurt, he was very polite, and asked me about his relatives at every turn. He was very worried about them."

The healer continued on with her account of that night, including listing the injuries she had detected in Harry as well as the ones she hadn't. She then gave a detailed description of the Dursleys and their injuries, with Severus asking pointed questions in between. When he was finished, Finkle had a hayday, trying to trip-up Adonna and make her double-speak herself. He failed miserably at every turn, but he tried to destroy most of her credibility with just two pointed questions.

"Did you or did you not perform an illegal spell on Harry Potter that night?"

"I did," said Adonna soberly.

"Was your healer's license revoked as a result of that action?"

Severus rose from his seat and before he could even say something, Chief Inquisitor Umbridge boredly said, "Mr. Finkle, you know better than that. The witness is not on trial. Ms. Tonks, you do not have to answer that question."

"Thank you, Madam Inquisitor," said Snape graciously. It was difficult to tell whether or not he was being sincere.

As Madam Adonna's testimony had begun at the end of another long and tedious day, and Finkle had questioned her for a couple of hours, Umbridge decided to recess until the following Monday. Snape gave an imperceptible hint of smile at this news. It would give them a chance to pull more of their scheme together. It might just be the first and the last time he and Adonna agreed on something.

* * *

The next Monday, the Ministry of Magic was crowded with people willing to testify. But for whom?

Severus Snape pushed his way through the crowd, for once enjoying the fact that he had been directly behind creating such a debacle. The officials who belonged in the courtroom also had to meander through the sea of people outside of the courtroom and spilling into the corridors beyond.

Chief Inquisitor Umbridge was already in her seat when Severus made his way into the arena. She looked none too pleased with what was going on.

She looked directly at Snape and demanded, "What is the meaning of this—this—rabble?"

"I assure you, Madam Inquisitor, this is no rabble. They are simply witnesses for Harry Potter's case."

"This many of them? Where did you find them all?"

"Oh, Madam, this is but a few of the witches and wizards who are willing to testify in Harry Potter's defense. It was they who contacted Harry Potter, you see. Long before this case ever went to trial, he was sent thousands upon thousands of letters from people around the world wishing him well following his car crash."

Umbridge began turning a funny shade of purple. It was most un-toad-like. "That's who you brought into _my_ courtroom? This _fanclub?_" She was beside herself with rage.

Snape bowed deeply, as if in supplication, then raised himself again. "Oh no, Madam Inquisitor, this is not a fanclub. Unless you count yourself amongst them?"

"Myself? What are you on about?"

"You see, Madam, you yourself sent Harry Potter a get well missive whilst he was in hospital. So if you wish to dismiss the wishes of thousands of wizards, worldwide, you will also be dismissing a letter written by your own hand."

Umbridge appeared to be weighing her options; in the end she decided, wisely, to allow Severus to present his own parade of witnesses. After all, fair was fair. But at the end of the day, she threatened once again to pour Veritaserum down Harry's throat. It seemed as if she was determined to get the last word this time.


	18. The Verdict

Dear Readers,

Well, here it is-the final chapter of Harry Gets Charged! Alas, do not worry-it was always intended to be part of a trilogy. =D Thanks for sticking with me this whole time, thanks for reading, and please-review! Thank you again!

~Rae Carson

* * *

The next day dawned bright and early, and rather than having the entire lot of witnesses put in front of the Wizengamot, Severus Snape granted them a reprieve. He had already made his point yesterday, and had only the most choice wizards and witches give their testimonies. After all, Snape had no desire to make himself look the fool.

He was still annoyed with Umbridge and cohorts for making Harry Potter look like such a dangerous criminal. Making sure Harry was unconscious for yesterday's court appearance seemed like an utterly ludicrous thing to him, but it was better than making the boy have to suffer the indignity of walking into court twice while being shackled and hauled in like a convict. Snape snorted to himself. _The day Harry Potter becomes a dangerous criminal is the day I stop wearing black, _he thought. Draco Malfoy was far more dangerous, and Snape didn't really consider him a criminal either. Why, compared to him, _Potter was practically a saint_, Snape realised with dark amusement, recalling Draco's choice name for him.

Sighing inwardly, he watched with the rest of those in the court arena when Harry Potter was brought in with as much pomp and circumstance as could be drummed up for a 16-year-old boy who had been accused of trying to kill his relatives. Snape realised that not even Voldemort had to face down such a thing, although he had killed many by the time he was Harry's age.

Manacled and in chains, Harry looked all around the arena, holding his head high. He stood proudly in spite of the whispers, in spite of those who stared, in spite of the metal binding his limbs together. His prisoner's uniform hung off his lean frame and dark circles rimmed his eyes. It looked like he hadn't got a decent meal or night's sleep in weeks. Then he was roughly shoved down into the witness chair where he was bound to it, limiting his movement even more.

Chief Inquisitor Umbridge beheld him with disdain and malicious hunger gleamed in her eyes. She snapped her fingers, which was a signal to the guards to give Harry the Veritaserum she had ready for him. Though he fought valiantly, there was only so much one could do when held down by a chair, chains, and 4 officers of the court. They force-fed Harry the potion and made him swallow it. Dumbledore's worst fears had been realised right then and there; he hadn't been able to prevent Dolores's action. Most of Harry's supporters stood up out of their seats and made sounds of shock and indignation. The Chief Inquisitor had to ask for order again.

"You may question your witness now, Snape," Umbridge said with badly-contained glee to the man.

Snape approached Harry with an unreadable expression on his face. "State your name, age, and

occupation."

Harry answered mechanically, while staring straight ahead, "Harry James Potter, 16, student."

Though Severus questioned the boy, Harry droned on and on about his accounts for things that happened the night of the car crash. His testimony matched exactly those of Stan Shunpike, Madam Adonna, and even Dudley Dursley, to a point.

"Did you see anything, or anybody, outside of the car during or before the time of the crash before you lost consciousness?"

Harry paused for such a long time, many people assumed he'd passed out. But then he stated, "I don't remember."

"Say that again?" Snape said.

"I don't remember."

It was a very puzzling thing indeed when one under the influence of Veritaserum failed to recall something. Snape soon moved on to other questions, including asking Harry what type of robes Madam Adonna had been wearing, what colour Vernon Dursley's car was, and other such queries. It was very uncharacteristic of the Slytherin professor to drift away from things which weren't pertinent to the case. He obviously had an ulterior motive in mind; Snape was trying to avoid handing over questioning of his witness.

Once again, Chief Inquisitor Umbridge admonished him, "Quit stalling, Mr. Snape, and hand over questioning of the witness to the prosecution."

Snape knew his number was up, so he turned to Finkle and said under his breath, "Make certain you question him only about things pertinent to the case, Zedward," before he swept out of the centre of the arena and sat down.

Just as Finkle was about to begin his questioning, a squat little wizard page made his way into the arena, and addressed Umbridge, "Madam Inquisitor, may it please you to know that Harry Potter's aunt, Petunia Dursley, has awoken from her coma just today and given testimony in her nephew's behalf. Here it is:

Members of the Wizarding Court, and to Whom it May Concern,

My nephew, Harry Potter, has never deliberately tried to harm

myself, nor members of my family. It surprises me to know that

in our absence, various people from your society approached my

son, Dudley, about this matter. We, that is to say, I and my

husband beg you to stop the trial against our nephew post-haste,

and release him as soon as possible. As someone who was there

on the night in question, I assure you he has done nothing wrong.

Respectfully Yours,

Mrs. Petunia Dursley

At the reading of Petunia's testimony, Umbridge looked nearly crestfallen, as did Finkle. They seemed to know that the Chief Inquisitor had no choice at this point but to declare a mistrial. That's exactly what the toady woman did, but she was on the brink of tears as she said, "This court has heard the absentee testimony of Petunia Dursley must thereby declare this proceeding a mistrial. Henceforth, Harry Potter is to have all charges against him dismissed and be released from wizarding custody. Case dismissed."

Many cheers and celebrating was echoed around the court arena, as the sooner-than-expected verdict was read. What was most upsetting of all is that Harry Potter had absolutely no outward reaction, as he was still under the influence of the Veritaserum. They had to give it time to wear off. But Harry had to go through procedures first. He still had to be hauled away by the guards and taken back to his cell. But now it would be the last time he was taken there. Dumbledore waited patiently while the guards removed the last of the shackles and chains, Harry was given his belongings again, and by about that time, the Veritaserum had worn off.

* * *

It was with much relief that Harry broke down and sobbed to Mrs. Weasley about how awful it was being a prisoner, how horrible the Dementors had been, how he had felt so lost and so sad that he hadn't even felt it within himself to cry. It was a new level of loss he hoped never to feel again. This crying actually seemed good, a cleansing type of tears. But he still couldn't manage to feel okay again. He was so exhausted by the end of it that he fell asleep on Mrs. Weasley, and she didn't wake him for quite some time.


End file.
